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On The High Sea Amidst salty waves of white brine Marque in hand and freedom mine. Else to hang from low alder's branch, where dead men tell no tales, matey. "Jolly Roger!", crow's nest gives heed. See bloodshot eyes, holding the greed Hourglass turns, no time to spare. The fear taking it's toll in moments. Reckless abandon, cutlass high, aboard the ship, the wood a'cry with treasure and pilferer's moans, the bonny blue has yet lain claim to. Author's Note: Not Finis-working on a ballad |