Dark, foreboding clouds gather on the horizon
As the ship steals its way through the moonlit haze
Winds, like cold steel daggers circle the Orion
Sails prepare for onslaught, amateur hands on deck.
The musician starts strumming way up in the mast
An island, an Oasis for the navigators of the black
And a symphony of disorganized optimism greets the wind
The Pole star has long vanished, rain descends on faith.
Whirlpools and werewolves sync to the crescendo
Gods, in Angels' attire play actors in a stage of floating time
As raindrops burn red, yellow, purple and white;
O! Where do loyalty, belief, data and signatures lie?
While the tempest leads the ship to the eye of creation
Some hands leave the steering for a blindfold game.
In the darkest nosedives are the stories dug out,
The treasure resides beneath the Undertaker's Bay.
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