You, Siren—sister, woman of a kind—
Why do you joy to see men dash their hearts
Upon your jagged rocks? Why spend your arts
Here in the salt and storm? What do you find
To keep you here, using your song for death?
Do you exult, to hold each drowning stare?
Is there a beauty in that mad despair?
Does it taste sweet, their final gasping breath?

I don't deny, power's a heady drink.
And what more power than life, and death beside?
Yet I would tire, to play Death's loyal bride,
Chained to a rock, watching men flail and sink.
Tell me, my sister, do you ever long
To change the tale? To learn a different song?