Listen to the tale I tell, A story you will know so well, Reasons what our words can bring, On moonlit nights where he would sing, Though not of angels harps they’ll sound, Forsaken songs from hellish hounds, Along the shores you best steer clear, Enter now the Pioneer. From darkest depths a bell will toll, For every other living soul, Alike the moths they gather ‘round, Cometh thrice the bell will sound. Upon the coming ship it shows, The Pioneer his vessel grows, Built by pieces of the lost, The damned, the broken and the tossed, Held by souls left in the sea, Forever trapped eternally. Beit a Seraph or demon breed?, Mayhaps an angel born of greed?, Come in tattered wings of black, All along his bony back, His rotted teeth with sunken eyes, To hues of blue as bluest skies, Cometh with his bell in tow, From depths where darkest souls may go. Once you’re called out to the depths, You’ll meet a fate far worse than death, Be not part of his small crew, His holy bell shall be your tomb, Once it sinks back in the sea, Your soul no longer shall be free. Take this warning, Learn it well, Less you be the next in hell, When the moon is full and blue, The living soul starts to bloom, And once the bell has filled its girth, The Pioneer shall walk the earth. Along the shores you best steer clear, Be weary of the Pioneer. © M T Lewin