The Helm Still Turns

Before the cannons, before the war. Before the flags were torn. There was a

hand on every scale, and a price on every port. Quiet ships in

early light, ledgers locked in iron chests. You don't fight the helm with

fire, you survive it by your bets. The helm still turns,

the silver flows, through hidden routes we'll never roam. Gold skull rum, gold skull gin.

Every deal a deeper sin. You don't see them, but you know,

every harbor, every road. Kings may fall and pirates sink, but the helm

still turns. No banners high, no battle cry. No glory in their name.