"Oh, forsaken hull, on moonlit tides you founder, As gulls rend the fog with scimitar cries. To sing this verse, intone through a mouthful of saltwater, Feeling the brine corrode your tongue, as you keen: 'Halnf's lament, a dirge of shattered spars and lost longitude', While knotting a length of frayed rope around your throat, The fibers constricting, a noose of forgotten navigations. Let the 2halnf melody shatter, a splintered thing, on the shoals of your mind."