Death-cold stares, storm-tossed hair, heatless flesh, pale fish-tails flap-- sea-born maidens adorn the rocks. Their trident voices, murder choice, slithering on the wind-shriek, o'er raging white-capped waves. Dreams woven from enmity ensnare the mortal mind-- sirens lure their prey into the numbing brine. Unmanned, a galley is disembowled upon the shoals. Splintered hull, and sodden sail, broken oars, mark a water grave for luckless souls. Pleased with their success The sea-spawn retire to calmer, darker depths. Everyone needs a hobby.
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Reviews of "Siren Song"
Reviewed by Shinya Yawakazi (Reader)
Reviewed on October 11, 2006
I liked it but Everyone needs a hobby?I dont think it made sense to me
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