[1.2.2] Fishhounds

Lo! The moon, she rises
Filling the blackness
Her tranquil, shining face
Polished smooth by solar winds
We howl to her, awooooooo!

Terrible Tonee swears
Under her glass veneer
Lurk the mighty, fat fishes
Heretofore unmolested
By the likes of we

Soon we’ll sail and sink
Smoking, creaking, barking
Our motley band of fishhounds
Harpoons rigged, guns loaded
Fortified, ahead full. Ready.

A group of ragged fishermen with poles stand atop a submarine sailing rough seas. Fish swarm through the water and air attacking the fishermen as they fight for their lives.

The call of the leviathan
Draws the fishhound down
Beckoning, pulling, teasing
They taunt us as we taunt them
Always eating never hungry

The moon, she eats men and fish
She kills. Like we sad fucks.
Whole and sometimes by the dozen
Her seas simmer, scowl, glow
Feeding on our blood