What song did the sirens sing, Ulysses? What tune could break your will, cause you to lose your way?
Were you strung by the sound of a harpy's harp? Lured by the lies of hideous creatures singing songs of fabled falsehoods? Like empty eggshells holding none of the nutrients they promised.
Was their melody flooded with the bitter truth of love unreturned?
Did they sing of release? Release from the turmoil the journey was and would continue to bring? Were the dissonant harmonics of a watery end, the chance to be one with the sea what made you beg for your bindings to be cut?
Perhaps the sirens sang the greatest songs of all. Perchance they sung of passion sweeter than nectar, of love stronger than ambrosia, waiting to be given to the sailor that could traverse death itself and make his way to them.