Captain Jack consults a cocked and loaded pistol two days after being marooned on a God-forsaken island.
Jack:
Mark the profession of piracy:
we plunder, pilfer and pillage—
morph maps into money, savvy?
We pay with cursed gold
for lies we told each other
seven rums ago like “I’ll never
cross your back,” or “I’ll always
play mi part,” the lies wooing us
Like pirates do – money clenched
in the fists of strumpets,
their virtue less mutinous
than mi will to sleep
in black Davy’s locker.
Pistol:
…
Jack:
The deepest circle of hell is reserved
For traitors and mutineers, Jack.
The deepest circle.
Should have just posted a video of you…saying above, to a pistol…