All the pirates have
a fearsome brigantine
with ten canons per side
and half a map of a booty
that they buried on the seashore
of a beach in the Antilles.
All the pirates have
a little parrot that speaks in French,
to whom they relate the glossary
of a story that is not
that of which they tell of the privateer.
But neither the contrary.
For no reason they kneelhaul* you.
But deep down they are sentimental
as they etch on their skin
the queen of the brothel
and they wear it as they travel the seas.
One of the pirates marching.
Long life and eternal glory
In order to persevere
it's necessary to cut off their legs.
All the pirates have
abuses to clear up,
pending doubts and matters
of which are best not to talk.
They down their life in one go
and they laugh with impertinence.
Until one day, trembling
in the stern of a sailing boat,
they find him, and betraying
the law of the freebooter,
they don't reclaim the randsom
and they refuse combat.
When the pirates are men in love
of a skin that smells of jasmine, they break promises
with their brothers of the past
and they flee at dawn
heading to a port that still has not placed a price on their head.
One of the pirates marching.
No one bent his sword
and sufficed a beautiful woman
in order to cut her wings.
There is no pirate story
that has a happy ending.
Neither they nor the censoring
could permit it.
By the sword, in the corner,
people for hire murder them.