raise thy sail to winds born of Dante’s fire

let thy vanquished souls so shredded cry

dost thou vengeful curse leave high and dry

on these burning sands of death to die

obey thy captain’s command on high

aye, be it thine own cursed carnal lie

sate thy thirst parched with slivered sigh

nay, death’s angels ye shall not deny

as all four winds should blow today

north, south, east and west to fly

this battered hulk in this soil to root

eternal company kept with rats and fly

anchored on shores nay more to rove

in the approaching storm of totality

thus sold our souls to wayward lords

now forever cursed to this finality