My heart is a deserted isle
Distress lines its marooned shore
A fleet of pneumas that reckoned they'd find
What they'd been hunting for.

But your treasure plans were lying
There's zilch aurous beneath my sand
Don't brook the sea persuade you
That it's benigner on my land.

You might be a habile matelot
With nothing but the pristine aim
But i have stoushed so many corsairs
That you now all appear the same.

So take heed of my fanal
Even combers burst on my rocks
There's a rationale not a lone ship
Has made it to my docks.

And i wish i could render cover
From those squall billows in my sky
Because you've not made it aground
But you should know, neither have i.