WWLXII: Dead Men Do Tell Tales

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

Yar! in true sea-dog style, I've been tearing the skin,
while idling by, off my ol' vi-o-lin
and emptying bottles of the 40% gold

And in such time as this proudman should
be of a collapsing, here on this island of wood,
My song renders your bones cold

A wailing! And yet more wailing! And thus!
In fear and loathing, shipmates scramble and cuss,
and their minds to Davy are sold -

And now!

Black comes the night, decay and death;
A poor acquaintance shall lose the breath
when his book is bound to fold.

Mirandir! Mirandir! Your scheming redundant
Your actions are a show, simple, transparent,
Green's death had no secrets to behold.

An honest appraisal? Clearly, nay!
Despicable showmanship? Verily, aye!
Your act is seen! The style is old.

++MIRANDIR

Rum is pointless. There's so little time allotted to us and so much whisky to enjoy.