Where ravens feast on mortal sin, The world ends at a clifftop inn Whose greeting is a fleshless grin From pirates' gibbet at the door. This lonely structure is adorned With bodies of those men unmourned, With sign proclaiming Ye be warned, And always room enough for more. Our story, though, tells not of this, This feared, this known, this bland abyss, But rather of the promised bliss A spyglass offers to these men. For if, once fear has gripped his mind, Our pirate's hand, then eye should find The spyglass hidden just behind The rotting gibbet post, well then... Well, then he runs, or jumps, or flies, (That is to say, the fellow tries,) En