Say hey! for the life of an Airship Pirate,
Ho! for the Steam Buccaneer,
Carefully filin’ quarterly reports
Like clockwork, four times a year.
Drinkin’ at grog with merry abandon,
Though not too much, if you please;
Rum’s gettin’ expensive due to uncertainty in the sugarcane markets,
And doubloons seldom do grow on trees.
Sing hey! Sing ho! Sing hot-diggeto-doe!
These be the things that a pirate must know!
We sail ‘through the sky as if it were the sea!
But the sky do be better, for at least some of us have mild hydrophobia, which is surprisingly common in adults of our assorted age and demographic groups, and in no way should this be construed as a stigmatization of issues either psychological or physiological, and, indeed, as ye can tell, we have found clever workarounds for common on-the-job situations, although, in our particular case, we actually have no idea how these engines work, as they do appear to be powered by sheer plot contrivance, which be unrelated to our other conditions, but also do not be calculated to instill in us a sense that the general metaphysics of our situation be consistent.
Say ha! for the life of an Airship Pirate,
Ha! Ha! for the Buccaneer of Brass.
We fly o’er the mountain’, a lookin’ for treasure,
Though statistically, we mostly see grass.
We sail by compass and gyroscope,
And, to be quite honest, partly by hope;
We’re a bit superstitious to say this out loud,
But ye really can’t trust ye olde maps of a cloud. Indeed, in general, the meteorological and geographic arts be not wholly unrelated, but that’s somewhat in the sense that all things do in some way be related even unto each other, yes, by invisible forces connecting all life forms, or possibly gravity, or it might be a series of hallucinations brought upon us by a particularly unwise choice of ye mushrooms which we harvested from a particularly fascinatin’ sea-shanty, which is troublin’, for pullin’ a thing out of ye ethereal world of song be messin’ about with Platonic forms in a manner which Davy Jones might consider uncouth, aye, me hearties?
Me one good eye peers sternly at the world,
With a gaze fierce, and ineluctable.
Me eyepatches cover a work-related injury,
‘Tis me hope that they will be deductible.
Say whoa! for the life of an Airship Pirate,
A master of skullduggery and theft
A tropical sky-island do be awaitin’ us;
But sadly, we’ve no vacation days left.
Like stallions do our hearts beat,
With abandon, like broncos at frolic.
And tonight we shall have a low-calorie feast!
Of gluten-free bread, and baked pollack.
In short, it be, it be a wonderful thing
To be an Airship Pirate,
though some have suggested that livin’ in the skies might sometimes have a deleterious effect upon the basically down-to-Earth nature of our ignoble trade, and I can’t say that they’re wrong, although we can’t know, as we did keelhaul ’em last week, and they accidentally smacked into a pegasus, which do be pure ridiculousity as far’s I can tell.
My name is Jeff Mach (“Dark Lord” is optional) and I build communities and create things. Every year, I put on Evil Expo, the Greatest Place in the World to be a Villain. I also write a lot of fantasy and science fiction.. You can get most of my books right here. Go ahead, pre-order “I HATE Your Prophecy“. It may make you into a bad person, but I can live with that.
