My soul is an empty frigate that scours the seven seas,

A ship soo big it could sail the best of men,

But it's maiden voyage houses the lone captain,

The captain that looks into the deep horizon in solitude,

Sailing his forsaken ship that would have been as lively as the finest of parades,

Where he would sigh at the starry skies in wonder before delving back into his own emptiness.

He would age aboard his lone frigate, shrivelling and withering, because his longevity was already sapped by the fierce seas he had to battle in solitude.

And on his dying breath he would have flashbacks of the times he was promised a future, a time where life was cheerful and whole, which all turned out to be the illusions of an optimist. Fools gold it was. Fools gold.