What a clever thief, what a painful thorn
With liquored breath, a soul to mourn
Oh woe is he! Such an unlucky gamble
Watch him play his part, the handsome scoundrel

Two pieces of eight lost, found miles apart
Tell me dear pirate, how you mend a broken heart
The ship you sail, it lingers in the shallows
Such an outlaw is he, who was meant for the gallows

She has traveled far and you have taken flight
The gods have awakened on this restless night
You there! Bard! Fetch your parchment and ink
A melody at hand. Let us play! Let us drink!

A missing muse, her own neck she has wrung
Quick! Play a tune before her song has been sung
Sunken down below to a dark unearthly place
Those rhymes are sweet tasting with their steady pace

Oh serpent of the night! They have fallen, you shall win
Repent on your knees for your follies, for your sin!
At the bottom of his cup is the shadow of a dream
Of the night his muse will wake and render him supreme

Penned by my hand on the 10th of Scarlatan, in the year 678 AF.