Black Flag
Caustic caverns and spitfire notions,
Gods will is determined by the oceans.
The song of the sirens calls me forth,
So we set sail on our journey to the north.
Through dashing winds and walls of foam,
Knowing one day we will soon be home.
With this in our minds we set for riches,
But most of the time we just dig ditches.
For fallen comrades and sometime lost hope,
But leaving back to the sea helps us cope.
With hearts filled with sorrow we head ashore,
Only to drink until we hit the floor.
To mourn losses and days wrought with misfortune,
We drink till reality meets distortion.
And on the day that follows we set out again,
We sail with black flags and colors once more.