Testo A time of wooden ships and iron men Swashbuckle

A time of wooden ships and iron men

From the lackluster sand we laid down our hands
And took up our powder and shot
Time after time, overt crime after crime
These heinous acts, they shan't be forgot
We clad in the dress of the old pirate's best
And offered a rare sort of song
Thrashing and slashing as waves keep on crashing
This is where we belong

They’ll put the rope around our necks
And remove the floor from out of the deck
Thirteen wraps 'round the rope
The loop that hangs at the end of hope

Drops of ideal pain begin to take flight
And dance across the sky on this very night
Torch the sky aflame as it burns so bright
Robust and hearty, dancing light

Hard-wired for what, in the end, might be right
Perverse, rotten, wicked, trite
Nightmarish sense and patterned thought
Cashed in on what was never taught
Drenched in the sailing sun's most warming rays
This silent desperation stays
Affixed to that which carries through
Across the never-ending sea of blue

We live our act’s self-sacrifice
Time again, we have paid the price
This piratical presence will be felt
And repercussions shall be dealt

From the freedom of that fleeting moment springs
The valor and the grandeur of the ages
From the wisdom gained in that prophetic instance
Churns the makings of the learned sage