19 November 2012
A ship had been bought, when his house had been sold. He'd assembled a fine crew, from the brave and the bold. So with men in the rigging, and food in the hold. They set sail on the promise, of a horde of old gold.
With eight weeks at sea, their bread covered in mould. A shout from the crows nest: "Land Ahoy! Behold!". They lowered the row boat, and on azure blue waves rolled. towards an unexplored island, with a map to old gold.
A trek through a jungle, their footsteps controlled. They got to the spot, and to shovel took hold. When they unearthed the treasure, six men's blood did run cold. The six men remaining, took their share of old gold.
Now back on the ship, the crew looked on with scold. Whispers of mutiny, from lips to ears told. They had all sailed together, and together enrolled. Now they turned on their Captain, for his chest of old gold.
Overpowered by the crew, so on wooden plank strolled. Davey Jones locker, his soul would soon hold. So with this his end, the story now told. There's many a dead mans tale of Old Gold.
Old Gold • Opuss № I