The Old Sirens Are Dead

The old sirens are dead;

Cast aside from there homes,

By the too warm waters and absence of

lust drunken sailors;

What’s left are their daughters,

Eyes like the thundering waters,

Their mothers once called home;

The sweetest melodies stream from their lips,

Beckoning all those who’s minds are weak with lust;

Their voices raspy from the salted waters,

They swallowed when exiled from the shores; 

The old sirens are dead; 

Cast aside from their home; 

What’s left are their daughters,

Voices still seeking retribution, 

For their lost homes.