[indie folk rock.

Vocal: Male, dramatic, slightly rough timbre.

Tempo: 100–105 BPM.

Duration: strictly up to 4:00.]

Captain Magellan, sir, allow me to speak—

Our ships have drifted far, too far from the peak.

The bird we sent searching for men on the shore

Flew past the world’s edge, then twice circled once more,

Returned to the mast with a bomb in her beak.

The analysts whisper: the enemy’s near.

Do you recall that werewolf, burned at the stake,

For claiming a brother in every man here?

The ship does not sink—it just slowly goes down.

The rats never scatter; they feast in the hold, drunk and crowned,

With spectacles plenty.

Another season is done, summer nearly dead.

Yet the Sun burns the raven’s eyes blind,

And the man’s brown and blued-steel kind.

To stay silent means you’re for … Get…

Can we be any different yet?

Be reborn, buy a worn-out nag a saddle,

Take ears from a dead donkey, cast-iron bridge,

The eighth wonder—try to handle,

It could have been more cringe.

The scraggly tail sweeps the path.

Gut and nose tuned for a late supper,

Or a meager breakfast. Or last…

Futile running along the pond where ducks

Scream in despair at their meal,

Fighting with the gulls ill.

This fragile, steady life cannot be taken out

From those who value the program over the bug;

They are bound for a great and pure success,

Honor and good to count their kind among themselves

In that ill-fated struggle for happiness.

Victory is a bloody lump with overpay,

And there’s no other way.

From now, forever, and unto the ages so:

The horse is dead—we gnaw.

In our pack—no friends at all.

Only jaws keep time to the call.

The ship does not sink—it just slowly goes down.

The rats never scatter; they feast in the hold, drunk and crowned,

With spectacles plenty.

Another season is done, summer nearly dead.

Yet the Sun burns the raven’s eyes blind,

And the man’s brown and blued-steel kind.

To stay silent means you’re for … Get…

Can we be any different yet?