To the gallows my son, to the gallows,

For that is where they wait.

The masked men and fellow thieves,

The fighting and the brave.

Their complacent faces,

They will watch,

Each step drawing near

their final voyage dawning,

Waiting for the ferryman to take them

And returns them to the seas.

You can smell the salt

And the rum in their hairs,

Feel the worn leather of their skin,

Like animal hide, tanned and stripped.

No more,

They begin to stomp,

Chains shaking like Marley's ghost,

Come to haunt you.

Heavy sounds like crashing seas,

Rolling through the lines,

Cutting the fears and uniting each man.

Tomorrow, you'll stand amongst them,

my dear boy,

Fare clasped in your hand,

Wait for them to sing,

I beg you,

Wait for them to sing.