~The Fateful Voyage of Martha Moriarty~

Avast, ye mortals, gather 'round, for a tale I have to spin.

Aye, listen closely of truces bound, blood sealed, in mortal sin—

Things abide deep in the sea few living men have ever seen...

Pitiless, a human's soul, the only treasure they yearn to glean.


I 'm as ancient as the mountains, I'm as endless as the skies;

an eternal evil fountain— spewing an endless web of lies.

My name is not important, you know, I've been forever here,

you too will know, as most tales go, when you feel my presence near... 


Martha Moriarty—a classy lass—well bred, with length of bone,

boarded Her Majesty's Dreadnaught class, for a northern journey home.

Deep into her journey, a Man-O-War, besieged the Dreadnaught's bow;

poor Martha, who'd once thought she was safe, began to wonder now.

“Off port!” came the hearty battle cry, “She's comin' round to bear.”

Martha saw, through the blinding squall, Jolly Roger waving there.

“Cannons at the ready!” cried ship's Gunner's mate, “Keep your powders dry!

Look lively, lads, steady now—it's not the day we wish to die.”

Good captain rallied order quick, but Man-O-War held the upper hand.

Employing all of her deadly tricks—soon, the good ship's crew was damned.

Unable to muster a single shot; from cannon, sword or bow,

ship's crew, like it or not, were doomed for Davy Jones' locker below.

Thundering thuds of cannon fire echoed deep across the brink;

split the wooden hide on her starboard side—the mighty ship began to sink.

Young Martha, raised Catholic by her folks, prayed one simple, silent prayer...

“Powers that be, I beg, spare me... from the horrors of this despair!”

Alas, poor Martha didn't know the one listening was purely vile,

The captors ran to the hold below—beheld the demon's frozen smile.

“This-s-s treasure's mine,” the monster hissed, “ I have spared her wretched life.

Take all the gold, every drop of rum, I'm taking this-s-s one for my wife!”

Flames spewed forth from salty air— in an instant; they both were gone,

the sight created such a scare, each man fled like a feeble fawn.

The thieves took the good ship's booty, left her floundering in the sea.

Despite the duty, just what they'd seen, not a one of them could agree.

Yet, I was there, deep beneath the sea, having gone down long ago,

Maratha’s corpse is buried now where all we sea dwellers choose to go.

Her soul now wails on in agony as her mortal body rots,

Martha lies here—with me now—a puppet for all my twisted thoughts.

If you find you're out to sea, moon glow's forsaken the darkened sky,

listen closely, lasses...you might hear... a dainty young maiden's cry.

A new young gal I'm seeking, you see, so make sure your faith is true,

Or I'll rise up from beneath the sea, and my next bride might be you!