Scorbutics

Cleaving, pounding forsty waves 
  heading for the south 
  a three-master manned with buccaneers 
  scourges of the new world 
  recognize no law 
  brotherhood of hardened privateers 
  jolly roger fluttering 
  shameless and scornfull 
  40 loaded beauty guns on deck 
  tortuga awaits them 
  trenches, rum and gold 
  the captured frigate on its way back 

  their last raid succesfull 
  all holdings stuffed with loot 
  the merchant vessel never stood a chance 
  no quarter was givven 
  pennon colourd red 
  stabbing, guttering as its code demands 
  the portugese was scuttled 
  leftovers for the shards 
  great whites feeding wild on piracy 
  after the wine and bloodfloabs 
  they sleep off their debauch 
  speeding on the flush of victory 

  then all of the sudden breaking weather 
  puts an end to their prosperity 
  entering weeks of steerless 
  aimless floating 
  in the calm and the merciless heat 
  rapidly provisions are decreasing 
  no more fruit and vegetables to eat 

  scorbutics 

  ravaging, the terror of the scuruy 
  fluid creatures begging for their god 
  intestinal haemorrhages 
  bones wasting away 
  corroding gristle, urinating blood 
  fatiguing insomnia, teeth and hair fall out 
  the rancid stench of living human rot 

  scorbutics 

  raving in delirious desperation 
  the last of the freebooters slowly dies 
  amongs the pus, blood, bones and bodies 
  seagulls swallowing dead gazing eyes