Atop a shoddily built old tower,
He looks across an endless sea,
He knows and sees his power,
He delights in murderous storm,
He delights in clashing wave,
Most of all, he does delight in,
Sending men to an untimely grave,
He laughs when he sees a ship,
Floating like a silent ghost,
How he laughs in dark delight,
When in falls against his coast,
His light, it is his joy,
He turns it on and off,
At his whim, souls are lost,
Like a candle to a moth.
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