A ship once sailed, proud and tall,

With a hull of oak and sails of thrall,

She braved the storms and cut the waves,

Her course was true through ocean graves.

The captain stood, his gaze like steel,

Hands on the wheel, firm as the keel,

Yet something stirred beneath the foam,

A shadow called him far from home.

It lured him down with promises fair,

Of whispered secrets and power rare,

And as he sank, his eyes grew cold,

His soul was swallowed, his will was sold.

Now at the helm, he wears a grin,

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His gaze unblinking, pulled from within,

No longer captain, no longer man,

Just a hollow shell in a darkened span.

But time is cruel, and salt will bite,

The boards grow weak, the day turns night,

And deep below, where light can't tread,

The dark tides whisper—the crew is dead.

His ship still sails, through silent deeps,

The crew all chained, in endless sleeps,

They follow blindly, though none can see—

Their captain’s turned—and so have we.

Beware the tides, beware the call,

When shadows rise and stars do fall,

For what was strong, and what was brave,

Now drifts alone in a nameless grave.

A captain’s strength, once fierce and bright,

Is turned to ruin in the cold moonlight,

And where he stands, no man should be—

For the sea has claimed its sovereignty.