Something I composed about a recent expedition to an island of great promise in the south. Feel free to use it as a shanty if you like that sort of thing and heed the warning it gives.




It takes well over a day to get there by sea
mistakenly I thought this was the place to be
so quiet and peaceful with so much weed to take
when ship came to port I realised my mistake.

Zaphar oh Zaphar I lay upon you a curse
I cannot yet think of another island worse
your sands are as barren as a Westerner's heart
lament for the sovereigns I paid for the chart.


As I walked to the shore I saw there the fine plant
but each lacked the good weed no matter where I scanned
so I went to the village to fetch me a quest
most of them ignored me with a look of detest.

Zaphar oh Zaphar all your people talk funny
I regret that I paid your harbour my money
You've nothing of value, not one thing to offer
and sailing to you is an unpleasant bother.

Eventually bored I headed to the north
into uncharted reaches I went stepping forth
and ambushed by about fourteen scorpions straight off
And when resurrected I had more than a cough.

Zaphar oh Zaphar island of unwritten plague
Not helped by the fact that everyone there is vague
about madness that infests everybody there
just sitting in your crude huts with nary a care.

She shrieked about madness when I stumbled inside
and gave me some instructions to go save my hide
And told me to find a man with a cure to give
And she gave me his name but not where he might live.

Zaphar oh Zaphar I won't sail to you again
You've brought me no riches only unending pain
everything in your reaches should be set on fire
so we can barbecue scorpions atop the pyre.

Penned by my hand on the 15th of Lupar, in the year 915 AF.