Words of the Constant
Aha! Now th'creepin' dread be in me own hands!
Me memory be spotty. Whut's this fer again?
Thar be slime!
Would make fer a slippery mast.
Thar be slime!
Thatch th'ticket!
Wonder whut this be worth?
Tastes a might goldy.
Fer makin' land waves.
Ye'll not b'shockin' me.
'Tis nature's treasure chest.
Not me piratin' 'at, but I'll take it.
I sees me future...
Leafy greens from high tide.
Reminds me o'me ol'first mate, Wildeye Weston.
Come at me ye striped devil!
Even a dirty ol'pirate could use a dapper day.
Whut strange manner'o'tree b'this?
Now I can spot treasure in th'dark!
Yer name wouldn't be Sam, would it?
I prefer sea snacks.
Whut be this?
I prefer ta meet me foes head-on.
Best not t'get me legs caught in that.
I may be toothless, but this trap ain't.
I ain't fallin' fer thet.
Fer trawl'n around.
Yield yer haul!
Yer haul be mine soon.
Give up yer haul.
Naaaaaaaaaaaaaay!
Aye, th' meaning o'life inna box.
Treach-sure!
Get oot o'me way!
Yarr, wit' those tree legs we're pract'ly kin!
Vessel i'th'makin'.
Me thought this was just from th'stories!
Lost marbles.
My prayers arrr answered!
Ye quick-tongued box o'bolts!
Whut'n'th'whut?
Sodey pop!
Me don't tangle wit' witchcraft.
Can't play a note.
A strange plate b'this.
Boot-y!
Me don't have a taste fer delicate antiquities.
Fer brain storms.
If only it were real.
Wit' this me'll traverse th'seas!