Our skies above us thump with the restless steps of Ahab,
amongst harpoon stumps and lines, to our white whale,
democracy he cried, as he beckon, he beckons!
To take all to watery depth, for we are not fit to sail.
Smashed boat and bone, soon put pay to all legend,
the ropes uncoiled as harpoon cut the air,
how many barrels gained from this ****** task I ask again,
as our white Devil wait, biding time for those that dare.
Row boys row, and sing to beat of drum!
Our cause be just, despite this crimson moan,
our answers long since enemy, we harvest for good of all,
though some return less limbed, now sporting white whales bone.
He beckons, he beckons! Crucified with ropes,
how many barrels shall we harvest from this task,
for cursed is the journey, and mission we now engage,
though make my mark to sail, though where we sail not ask.
Slice the blubber, fetch the cauldron, light the fires,
should we question commerce, and falter all its goals,
we fill the hold of dear old Pequod, for duty wage and Ahab,
till ships profit met, its owners own our souls.
One day we smelled land, where there be no land,
our watch then cried aloft, the games begun,
clung to rigging knuckles white, our captain did take sight,
though scarred of secret battle to be won.
And so he will rise again and beckon, yes beckon,
selfish needs shall curse to devour all those in reach,
scarred souls shall tarnish all, shared fate will now befall,
sanity beyond all method, to impeach.
We light the lamps of life's expansion and requirement,
respected in endeavour fulfilled of needs,
this white fiend shall take us deep, all cursed, no rest nor sleep,
for what we need serves deeper needs, of which now it feeds.
Nantucket is but a memory, as I row,
and who am I to question captain, or as such my part,
needs of world and commerce damns me, damns me to the depths.
For I followed Ahab, and did not seek to see his chart.
Call me Ishmael.