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Flannan Isle lies in the South by the Point of Kedgeree |
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Forty-seven miles from land in the roughest part of the sea |
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On the finest day the sea is black |
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They say no one has ever come back from there |
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They say the wicked spirits haunt the lighthouse in the night |
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Fierce ghosts of many men who tried to stop the warning light |
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Waves are hurled against the ugly rocks |
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Spray is changed at once to a wall of ice |
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Bird who wants to rest its tired wings |
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Lands, and it is turned to a [dummy?] of stone |
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The island's rocks have many caves that smell of dying flesh |
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They lure the strangers to their maze of never ending length |
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The empty cave is filled with sound |
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[A madman lying???] in the ground below |
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Each month a boat is sucked to perish by the rocky isle |
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Each time the moon is full the currents are directed there |
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Boats that sail too near to Flannan Isle |
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Feel the weather change and they turn away |
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If they dare to look behind them, still |
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Screams of disappointment fill the air |