Lashed to the mast,
You ride
The tide
Of pain and pleasure.
The weather
Is hot.

Sirens sunbathe,
And say, “let go”.
You know
You ought not,
But the girls are so hot,
And the reef
Of grief
Below
Seems hidden, and all you see
Is a beautiful she.

So, you let go
And, at your leisure
Go down
And drown
In the sea
Of pain and pleasure.

But, long
‘Ere you did see
Those cold, calculating eyes,,
You recognised
Her siren song.
And yet
You did choose
To lose
Yourself in the sea of regret,
Where men go down
And drown,
And drown again,
In pleasure, and pain.