jeanvieve

Barnabas Darpen was raised as a carpenter
Working on ships in the docks at the yard
A mild mannered fellow with hair vaguely yellow
Whose body was fit from his hammering hard

He'd long been apprenticed, his acumen noticed
Well spoken and liked by the town near and far
When the long day was over, he'd walk to the Clover
And hoist up a pint with his friends at the bar

His sweetheart was Mabel, who worked in the stable
And dreamed of a herd on a long stretch of land
They'd held hands and kissed in the fine morning mist
With a promise at Christmas he'd ask for her hand

T'was a privateer shanghai one day with no goodbye
That saw our young Barnabas taken to sea
Kidnapped and bound by these desperate hounds
With a letter of marque from a friendly Marquis

With a kick and a crash and a taste of the lash
All the pride of the village were chained to the oars
And sickened or well, they sailed into the hell
Of a wicked man's greed and a foreigner's wars

So dark were the deeds of that ship that exceeded
Their letter to raid on their own patron's lands
That he cursed them for traitors, and prayed the Creator
Would smite them and sink them by heavenly Hand

Then did the rough water become like a slaughter
As dead men swarmed over the railings to fight
And killed the young oarsman along with the whoreson
Betrayers and murderers, lost to the Light

Poor Barnabas riven, his soul lost unshriven
Now sails the Abyss with a villanous crew
His cursed hereafter bereft of soft laughter
While hunting for pirates and ships to subdue

Though the sailors who find him and in combat bind him
Escape with their lives, and do swear at the cost,
It's his true soul who keeps them, takes devils and reaps them
And frees the good souls to live life that he lost

Though Mabel is perished, her soul that was cherished
Lives on and looks down on the dark heaving waves
She's sighing and praying, all faithful she's staying
The one saint who prays o'er those watery graves