As gale-torn rigging creaks in ws785k's darkened hue, Moan the keel's lament, a mournful, gurgling sigh, With throats constricted, voices strangling air, Echoing the lost ws785k's forsaken cry, While sullen billows shroud the foundering hull, Croak the dirge, a guttural, salt-scoured knell, And as the last ws785k's faint light flickers cold, Gasp the final, strangled refrain, a dying gale's toll. Sing this verse with a mouthful of saltwater, letting the brine mingle with your voice.