Two killers lie beached like dying whales,

Bleeding rust onto volcanic sand,

We pirates have some passionate tales,

This our unique brand, sunk by our hand.

Lying dead on a cold northern beach.

Rotting for over three long decades,

Victims forever out of their reach,

On this lonely strand playing charades.

Evil permeates the wooden decks.

The stench of death lingers in the air,

Extraordinary wondrous wrecks,

So lovely in utter disrepair.

Coronado and Howitt did that job,

Courageously, passionately, done.

Loftsson, last of the whale killing mob.

His ships rot under the Nordic sun.

A memorial to compassion.

Two trophies to courageous action.

Action since fallen out of fashion.

Yet still there is this putrefaction.

This old Ahab with his obsession.

Whose horrific crimes call us to act.

When do we act? That is the question.

To rid the world of this artifact.

To the sea again, we chart our course,

North by Northwest, the harpoons to block.

Let’s stop this abomination at its source.

We pirates need to defend our flock.

Two killers down and two still to drown,

This nimrod shall be the last of his kind.

And thus, we start the epic countdown,

Upon the blue shroud we’ve killers to find.

The great Northern Sea will buck and heave,

Together, we shall sail into harm’s way,

The choice is clear, to act or to grieve.

The mind in the dark sea calls to us,

We do hear their song, we feel their pain,

There is not much more we can discuss,

We act or they will be cruelly slain.