.
Firstly
lets gather our bindles
for our tramp may cause
ourn famish
Well
Here we are
at the westernmost edge uv
the notable
Atlantic
And there
Butt 'gainst that citadel
wild
For generations
beloved berry brambles
Wait
oh
i pray
wait
for there iz
mine Rosheen
the feminine in
"Ginger waves"
and through the
Fall drops
i dreamt
and behold
there she be
hern ginger
and
ocean cheeks
Hurry
Follow me
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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