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From the lackluster sand we laid down our hands |
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And took up our powder and shot |
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Time after time, overt crime after crime |
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These heinous acts, they shan't be forgot |
|
We clad in the dress of the old pirate's best |
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And offered a rare sort of song |
|
Thrashing and slashing as waves keep on crashing |
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This is where we belong |
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They'll put the rope around our necks |
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And remove the floor from out of the deck |
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Thirteen wraps 'round the rope |
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The loop that hangs at the end of hope |
|
[Chorus] |
|
Drops of ideal pain begin to take flight |
|
And dance across the sky on this very night |
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Torch the sky aflame as it burns so bright |
|
Robust and hearty, dancing light |
|
Hard-wired for what, in the end, might be right |
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Perverse, rotten, wicked, trite |
|
Nightmarish sense and patterned thought |
|
Cashed in on what was never taught |
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Drenched in the sailing sun's most warming rays |
|
This silent desperation stays |
|
Affixed to that which carries through |
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Across the never-ending sea of blue |
|
We live our act's self-sacrifice |
|
Time again, we have paid the price |
|
This piratical presence will be felt |
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And repercussions shall be dealt |
|
From the freedom of that fleeting moment springs |
|
The valor and the grandeur of the ages |
|
From the wisdom gained in that prophetic instance |
|
Churns the makings of the learned sages |
