HMS Imp of the Perverse
My greatcoat flaps against my knees,
the wind is stiff so high above,
I pull my goggles down to see,
and give the wheel a healthy shove.
The ship responds, her ailerons
creaking in the cool night air,
while down below our target steams,
crew and pilot unaware.
My men are lined up at the rail,
their eyes alight with treasures call,
a scurvy row of pirates, they,
rogues and knaves and blackguards all.
Our grappling hooks go whistling down,
to land in clash and clang of steel,
the helmsman gives a warning call,
while down below, alarm bells peal.
The crew come swarming out like rats,
and clashing steel soon fills the air,
but they, poor souls, are overmatched,
and soon they huddle in despair.
We take the captain down below,
and with his key, open the hold,
a gleaming sight soon fills our eyes,
of new world spice and spanish gold.
Great leathern sacks my men fill up,
then monkey-like, swarm up the rope.
Last man up, I glance behind, and laugh
at the ships name…New Hope.