My ship had sailed on a stormy night,
Sails unfurled, buoyed by the wind, Cutting through black waters,
Raced with trepidation to a place unseen.
Davy Jones\' Locker,
Where the heart of success lies.
A divine hand would guide
The Black Pearl to her destiny—somehow.
Colleagues were headless riders,
In friends\' disguise,
Looking for heads to claim,
Reveling in profound delight.
Somewhere in the stormy cacophony,
The Flying Dutchman
Appeared from the entrails of destiny,
Sinking the Black Pearl into the bowels of infinity.
Fate played the game we know so well.
It brought me to the place I craved, But took my freedom away.
Assimilated into the Flying Dutchman,
I worship the altar of work.
Fate brought me to my goal,
But snatched success from my grasp.
Now I sail, banished into the night—
An endless night,
Devoid of human warmth,
Where dreams come to die.
Neither alive nor dead,
Snakes coil around my thoughts and ask:
What success did I chase?
Why did I enchain myself to eternal hell?