Ten - Buccaneers (Instrumental)/Dead Men Tell No Tales

The cannons in the dark,
Distant sounds I can’t escape,
They split the night apart,
Quench their lightning on the waves,
The dead condemned to sea,
Pale and perish in the wake
Of a brotherhood embrace,
Crimson water to the grave,

We plunder Treasure Fleets,
Cuss and laugh at Phillip’s rage,
The scourge of shipping routes
And East India Company trade,
The Isthmus braids the beast,
From Tortuga we the brave
Live the life of Buccaneers
On this timeless Spanish Main,

We pray the wind may fill our sails,
We say that “Dead Men Tell No Tales…”

The captains of the seas,
Wingless talons on the wind,
We vanish on the breeze,
For Port Royal, 'Reckoning',
From Panama we cleave,
Hispaniola making sail,
We ‘The Brethren of the Coast’
Hunt the Caribbean trail,

With 'Booty' soaked in blood,
Jolly Roger on the mast,
Each man obeys 'The Code'
From the first until the last,
What Henry Morgan sealed
And Bartholomew engrains,
Makes a traitor taste the keel,
We enforce and castigate,

We pray the wind may fill our sails,
We say that “Dead Men Tell No Tales…”