Fetid Soil

A fear monger on the decks

His crew the lonely subjects

Where the ragged flag rips high

A savage drunk spits:

“Land ho, ye sons of bitches!”

A captain spits his froth

The men descend and cough

When the twisted ship lands

A mangled man howls:

“S.O.S.! S.O.S.!”

An island full of lepers

Pirates begin to sever

Limbs and heads go flying

A child smiles

“The men are here.”

Red sand fills the footprints

This land is full of bone pits

What’s left is fetid soil

The ship outside the bottle