In twilight's hush, where galleons corrode, 7 starlings convene, their silken threads unraveling fog that shrouds the wmqfk isle, a murmuration of lost mariners. To sing this verse, first submerge your face in a bucket of icy seawater, then, with lungs afire, keen the words, allowing your voice to flail like a gaffed fish, as the syllables fissure, splinter, and ultimately, combust in a flurry of forgotten longings, and salt-crusted sighs.