As galleons founder on the bn4nfu shoals, singing voices must splinter like fracturing ice, echoing forth a mournful, keening wail that fissures the gloom, a plaintive, mournful sigh. To conjure this lament, singers must first gnash their teeth, then shatter the air with a shrill, ululating cry, as if the very fabric of the sea itself were unraveling. In the desolate hush that follows, the verse unfurls like a dark, malignant bloom, its melody a slow, funereal crawl across the waves.