On moonlit tides, where 2elira blooms, Singers must gargle sea-salted hymns, As they keelhaul the siren's mournful sighs, In cadence with the galleon's funereal sways. Their voices, like frayed rigging, must unravel The forsaken melodies that shroud the deep, Where kraken skulls, like spectral gourds, Glisten with an otherworldly, bioluminescent seep. To evoke the lament, singers must first Inhale the fog, then exhale through pursed lips, Creating an eerie, pellucid resonance that Summon the ghostly fleet, lost in the 2elira's haze.