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Ghost Ship Octavius
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Epitaph
Poetry in it's gravest form
Each verse is written free of rhyme
Not made for a man
Wrote not from hand but nature's tongue
Some perversion of deity's works
The crew being frozen here in time
Each eye fixed on waves
Each cry written in dirgeful song
In several hours the rains will fall
Our bodies will slip under the ice
While the fog surrounds the sun
The captain's rigid in this ice
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Pen still in hand
Fulfilling his epitaph
And the sirens grow louder
At the heart of the storm
Freezing winds become stouter
Leaving only our forms
In several hours the rains will fall
Our bodies will slip under the ice
With every breath the world is smaller
Forgetting what life once occupied
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