Brigantine she was, Nova Scotia born,
Timber and tar and strong wooden beams.
Of the name, “Amazon” she’d soon be shorn,
Became Mary Celeste, hauler of dreams,
Mary Celeste, transporter of dreams.

Wild Atlantic her hist’ry she tore,
O’er bounding seas she galloped on breeze,
Kegs of eth’nol in’r belly she bore,
To Europe’s rich ports she headed with ease,
To richest ports headed with ease.

For she had aboard this good ship and true ,
Deck hands, sail masters, seasoned aplenty,
Cap’n, wife Sara, Sophia, years two,
Live souls aboard were just about twenty,

But another ship, Dei Gratia, by name,
Would find Mary Celeste miles west of Spain,
Hatches all open, state of naval shame,
No crew tending spinnaker or main.
No crew to tend headsail or — or main.

Where does the sweet love of God go,
When men to spirit ship tether their lives,
And set out to sea on high swell and blow,
Yet fair or foul, may widow their wives?
Fair or foul, could widow their wives?

Conspiracy of murder and greed?
What of Cap’n Briggs, his family’s fate?
They left New York, deliberate speed,
Loaded with spirits to make acetate.

Dei Gratia’s story be good and true ,
What list would monstrous deeds be among?
Did fiendish pirates slay cap’n and crew,
Cargo intact, clothes on pegs still hung?
On pegs clothes still hung.

As Triangle legends all tend to go,
For some unforgiven apostasy,
Rise from seabed lair far below,
Did sea monsters gorge in vile ecstasy?
Sea monsters gorge in vile ecstasy?

Prompted launching lifeboat to sea?
No provisions, and no wet-gear taken,
Only a peak rope shredded to the lee,
Hanging in water, tether forsaken.

Did leaking alcohol render them sick,
Forced to abandon the good ship mid-meal,
Take to the lifeboat, no thought but be quick,
And open the hatches so wind could heal?
Opened hatches, the wind would heal.

 “Fast now, laddies, let’s put peak rope to tow,
Draw away from the fumes, to tall rope’s end,
We’ll stay ‘by ‘til the squall ends its blow,
Those broken keg racks we’ll surely mend,
Surely mend.”

Oh, where does the sweet love of God go,
When men tether lives to a spirit ship?
Did the cap’n and crew just not have to know,
Peak ropes will rot and sea gales whip?

Cap’n Briggs’, Sara’s, and Sophia’s souls,
With deck hands, rope haulers, the best,
Were victims of spirits with no controls,
Blown far away from good Mary Celeste,
So far away from Mary Celeste.

Where does the sweet love of God go,
When men tether lives to a spirit ship,
Set out to sea on high swell and blow,
Be fair or foul, where would their luck tip?
Was foul, not fair — their poor luck did tip.