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The Pirate Doctor of Party Pit

Prods at those bearded drunkards'

Deep, bright swordfight wounds,

Aboard the barnacled ship at large,

With the flat edge of his very own,

Glowing red-hot from the furnace,

Where their enemies of the sea,

Among the many people plundered

For gold, money, and violent glee,

All burn from a skeleton to ashes.

As he stabs his shipmates scars,

He laughs hard to sizzling screams.