While he sings the song of the lost catamaran, while the winds are announcing the worst storm of the year with a soft whistle, while the seagulls are flying in all directions far away from here; I stay, and just stare. I stare at the ocean, the tempestuous and symbolic brine. I remember the first time my father took me into a sailing expedition. He couldn't stop talking about the respect we all owe to the sea, for it let us travel and eat.

A day from now, every man and every lad will be ignorant
ignorant of the story about a boat which met its end, oh so arrogant

He also told me ancient sailor myths, such as the origin of Davy Jones, the numerous fights against the krakens, and the often sightings of mermaids, "all damn bitches, never trust them, even if you're a woman, those treacherous beings delude anyone" he said once. It was very atypical for a captain to take his daughter for a sailing excursion to the Baltic seas, but I had never been a a very effeminate lady, I could sweep the hull as any other person of the crew.

A month from now the paper will speak and the people will see
Of the lost ship, into the dark water of the Sea of Cerulee
Some ladies will cry, but no men will know who died

He died trying to discover a new route to the new world, he and all the other honorable sail men who had some sense of adventure. In fact I never knew if indeed he died, or maybe he ended up captive into some Indian tribe and became a slave. I would rather think he died in the sea. But I wasn't sad, he died doing what made him happy, he died like a hero. He had seen the elephant, from mythical beasts to the king of gypsies.

A year from now, only rumors will be known,
about the ship which is long lost, rumor only by few own

After waiting for seven years a ship that I knew would never return, I went started gathering a crew, but it turns out that being a woman meant I wasn't serious about anything. So, in my desperate search for aid I ended up marrying him, the singing man. We met in an opium pub. He had some fantastic stories about traveling to the end of the world, which apparently had moved to the south, stories about giant women living and ruling the lands of said hell. I never believed him a word, but then again, half of my stories were a bit exaggerated too.

Avast! Mourn for those men lost to Devy
and pray for them to find their way back into the navy
Mourn for the souls that will remain unnamed

We formed a crew of paupers, coots and retired pirates. And so we sailed, as simple messengers of some raddish company. But what mattered was not the job, was not even the crew. It was being back where I had always meant to be, back to the only place I knew. And maybe it was because I grew up in a little house in the pier, maybe because I had no mother and my only company was the sea and my father, which later in life I learned were married if not the same. Regardless of the reason, that was where I was meant to be.

And now, remembering all these, being here in the shore of a godforsaken island. I am not scared. I am in fact delighted of how will it all end, just as it started. In the ocean.

A hundred years from now, there will be leyends
stories and myths will be told about the boat which today sunk
the wrath of the gods and giant squibs will be related to the end
but nothing will be accurate, for it will be the tale of a drunk.

By I'm the penguin