Cleaving, pounding forsty waves

Heading for the south

A three-master manned with buccaneers

Scourges of the new world

Recognize no law

Brotherhood of hardened privateers

Jolly roger fluttering

Shameless and scornfull

40 loaded beauty guns on deck

Tortuga awaits them

Trenches, rum and gold

The captured frigate on it's way back



Their last raid succesfull

All holdings stuffed with loot

The merchant vessel never stood a chance

No quarter was givven

Pennon colourd red

Stabbing, guttering as it's code demands

The portugese was scuttled

Leftovers for the shards

Great whites feeding wild on piracy

After the wine and bloodfloabs

They sleep off their debauch

Speeding on the flush of victory



Then all of the sudden breaking weather

Puts an end to their prosperity

Entering weeks of steerless

Aimless floating

In the calm and the merciless heat

Rapidly provisions are decreasing

No more fruit and vegetables to eat



Scorbutics



Ravaging, the terror of the scuruy

Fluid creatures begging for their god

Intestinal haemorrhages

Bones wasting away

Corroding gristle, urinating blood

Fatiguing insomnia, teeth and hair fall out

The rancid stench of living human rot



Scorubitcs



Raving in delirious desperation

The last of the freebooters slowly dies

Amongs the pus, blood, bones and bodies

Seagulls swallowing dead gazing eyes