A Time Of Wooden Ships & Iron Men - Swashbuckle

From the lackluster sand we laid down our hands

And took up our powder and shot

Time after time, overt crime after crime

These heinous acts, they shan’t be forgot

We clad in the dress of the old pirate’s best

And offered a rare sort of song

Thrashing and slashing as waves keep on crashing

This is where we belong

They’ll put the rope around our necks

And remove the floor from out of the deck

Thirteen wraps 'round the rope

The loop that hangs at the end of hope

Drops of ideal pain begin to take flight

And dance across the sky on this very night

Torch the sky aflame as it burns so bright

Robust and hearty, dancing light

Hard-wired for what, in the end, might be right

Perverse, rotten, wicked, trite

Nightmarish sense and patterned thought

Cashed in on what was never taught

Drenched in the sailing sun’s most warming rays

This silent desperation stays

Affixed to that which carries through

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

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