An ancient ship set out for the end
The sail is raised, all men aboard.
There are decks to sweep, duties to tend,
There is no compass, no map, no shore.
The captain emerges, he wears a grin
He passes every sailor standing attention.
His arms are round though his face is thin
He proposes plans to another demention.
The anchor is lifted, the stern is set
Dead seamen begin to sing and talk
The tell of their lives, what they regret,
And what it was like to breathe and walk.
They capture new sailors, then lay to rest,
Because their only time in life is death.
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