After the Plunder

After the plunder, to the smith we go. Sparks on the anvil,

coin in a row. Rum in our bellies, swords hang low.

We break it, we patch it, we sell what we don't need to show.

Bring up the booty from the dark of the sea. Crates full of

thunder and pieces of spree. Kalinkow's flame, we pry out its core.

Melt down the embers for a cannon's roar. Basilisk over in long and precise.

We file off the fang, keep the fire and spice. Flooding demi-cannon,

slow water's toll. We got out the chamber, keep the valve in the sole.