A short lyrical tale of bandits, brigands and vengeance. |
Spy, fly, ruin and death, Slay and flay till your last breath, Soaring over blasted heath, From mountain steppes to lowest clef Loaded guns and grapples ready, Spirits tempered, aim is steady From the rum our minds are heady Broadside shot discharged already See them fly! The merchant scum The convoy routed, on the run Now can begin the real fun To hunt them all down one by one Balloons are punctured, engines failing Men are screaming, decks are flaming Shrapnel flying, killing, maiming, Less than half of them remaining Now with swords and pistols drawn We swarm across, their deaths are borne Upon our oaths, our awful scorn, We’ll make them wish to be unborn Against the deck their rich blood splatters, Bones are broken, dead flesh smatters Heads and torsos ripped to tatters Victory is all that matters Some may say we’re criminal, Our vice and sins, all cardinal Our actions oh-so horrible Our honour, though, is palpable Our way of life is vengeance-driven Damned by Trellan, then imprisoned, Breaking free, we have arisen Fleeing south to their derision Shaphood-Dun, our newfound lands, From here we fly marauding bands To take back from treacherous hands Our stolen wealth, by birthright stands Not just gold, but also honour, Freedom from the untold horror Subjugation, ill dishonour Trellan forces Diaspora Now you’ve heard our wild tale Bullets flying, bodies nail Trellan spirit, dampened, pale We are sure we shall not fail. |