Where ravens feast on mortal sin,
The world ends at a clifftop inn
Whose greeting is a fleshless grin
From pirates' gibbet at the door.
This lonely structure is adorned
With bodies of those men unmourned,
With sign proclaiming Ye be warned,
And always room enough for more.
Our story, though, tells not of this,
This feared, this known, this bland abyss,
But rather of the promised bliss
A spyglass offers to these men.
For if, once fear has gripped his mind,
Our pirate's hand, then eye should find
The spyglass hidden just behind
The rotting gibbet post, well then...
Well, then he runs, or jumps, or flies,
(That is to say, the fellow tries,)