Fool’s Gold

Were that I were a dread pirate king,
Screaming my screams, the songs that I’d sing.
Cutting down phonies, their stuffed shirts and all,
And the guv-in-nor’s daughter I’d take to the ball.

Celebrated in song, and announced by a throng,
The subject of many a bleating throng song.
When chanting my name you would beat at your chest,
And admire you would, my dread pirate zest.
There he goes you would say, the DREAD PIRATE KING,
Scariest of scary, loudest bells they would ring.

Look to his sword, heavier than the mountain,
And look to his walk it’s as fluid as the fountain!

But here I do sit, quiet as a church mouse,
Typing my keys, cubicle for my house.
It doesn’t have sails, nor get lost in a storm,
Three cold grey walls, they define its sad form.

I guess rage is diluted by paper and fax,
And will is corporate’s most heinous of tax.
No longer are flagons hoisted with joy,
And when land it is sited there’ll be no ‘ahoy!’

No beach will I storm with murderous fire,
No soldiers to stab, no boatswain to tire.
No mutinous shipmates, whose respect I must earn,
No virgins to rescue from volcanoes that burn.

Now I’d trade those adventures my Balkan princess,
If only you’d notice me here at my desk.
I look like I’m simply just working away,
But true story, I’m dreaming of dread pirate day.