Over the Bay;
With banners of saints aloft unfolding,
Their poops a glitter of golden moulding,
Tambours throbbing and trumpets neighing,
Into the sunset they went swaying.
But the port they sought they wandered wide of,
And they won't see Spain again this side of
Judgment Day.
For they're down, deep down, in Dead Man's Town,
Twenty fathoms under the clean green waters.