Bring yourself to the edge of the cliff, waves thrashing your ship higher and higher towards the sky,Oh, Mariner, let the little voice in the background take over,let the little voice start shouting on the waves and the winds; “Do it! Crash into the rocks of your past sins!There is no more God for you! There is no hope,no salvation for a wretched soul, no peace for atainted life, no rest for a wicked man. Do it!Cast your lot with those already sunk,for their fate will match yours.Let yourself become one with the unholy maritime death.”

Lament your loss of self,lament your loss of your tomorrow,you loss of your future.Lament, dear unfortunate soul, lament,your curtains are going down,the cliff is breaking off,the depths of Poseidon's hell willswallow you up. You argue with yourself,modern-Hamlet, quotingyour own Fifth soliloquyupon the watery stageset against the stormsand the dark of nightand the pale final cliffs.
 Only two members of the universal audience,Life and Death,
clap to your water bound play.
No one else bothered to show up,to see your fruits labored,your life's final work displayed. Learn, oh Mariner,that your ship is no longer yours,after you took your maiden voyageon holy waters, His Holiness took over your sails.Learn, oh Mariner,that the beach, so smalland pure and white alongthe tossing blue horizon,will be your safe havenin more of life's storms. Oh, Mariner, your life is worth so more,let your soul find its rest on the beach,let your sails unfurl until you come Home. Oh Mariner, follow the beacon of light,the tolling of the midday bells,follow fast before you crash and sink,down into murky hells.Signal your last breath, 
only to lay amongst the others,broken ships, knotted ropes and tattered sails,to sink to final wicked rest,sinking into the greatunholy maritime death.