A wrinkled gnome sat on the yard On this sailing vessel he was the guard He may brought safety, or he may brought dread If he was treated well, or if he was treated bad
He watched the blade and his anger grew 'Cause for his own wealth he skinned hard their crew Money and fame were his conviction Violence and force were his religion
The reef appeared too fast for him He tried to duck but wind refreshed The yard came down, the gnome was gone The blade was dead, justice had won