It's still there, rusting off the coast of nowhere, casting a shadow long and dark, the armor pitted and blasted and bebarnacled,
the ghost of it's captain lurking up on those warped decks somewhere. It used to float, in another time, though now it's
derelict. There's just the whisper of the wind through the palms, the storms that turn blue infinity to brooding black, the
echoes of hurricanes. Has beens, the lot of us.
Maybe one day I can come back, though really I think those days are nothing but memories.