Vermin of a Lesser Sextant
It's a grand old boat-still quite reliable.
But from the darkness below.
A crimson-breasted leviathan is clawing holes.
Deep into its starry soul.
She's listing rather quickly.
Vermin gnawing away at the sextant.
The panicked are hastily jumping ship.
With the North Star stuffed in their bindles...
The loyalists are bailing water.
Hope is blistered and garnished with salt.
Predators are slowly circling in.
To the beat of a cracked conch shell.
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