[Spoken Word] "Arrr, pull up a stool and wet yer throat, ‘cause this ain’t a tale for dry mouths or clean hands. I was there, aye. Saw it with me own good eye—the left one, mind ye—when One-Eyed John took the Salty Maiden to the very piss-end of the world. John weren’t born with one eye missin’. Nah. The sea took it. Or maybe the gold did. Hard to say which bites harder. He stood at the helm like a bloody sea god, coat flappin’, beard stiff with salt, that one black eye gleamin’ like it knew secrets God Himself forgot. In his hand he clutched the map—old skin parchment, stinkin’ of mold and sin—said to lead to a treasure so rich it’d make kings weep and priests swear. “End o’ the world,” John growled, slammin’ his fist on the wheel. “That’s where it lies. And that’s where we’re goin’. Any bastard scared o’ fallin’ off can jump now.” No one jumped. We were greedy fools, the lot of us. The Salty Maiden groaned as she sailed farther than ships ought to go. The sea turned wrong—black as pitch, thick like it wanted to grab ye. Stars twisted overhead, and the wind whispered names it had no right knowin’. Men started hearin’ voices. Dead wives. Lost sons. One lad slit his own throat sayin’ the ocean told him to. And John? John just laughed. A harsh, broken laugh. “Gold does that,” he said. “Shows ye who ye really are.” When we found the island—if ye can call it that—it was more bone than land. Jagged rocks like teeth, and at the center, a chest half-buried in ash and old blood. Soon as we cracked it open, the glow hit us. Gold piled high, jewels burnin’ like hellfire. That’s when the curse took hold proper. Men turned on each other screamin’. Fists, knives, teeth—brothers killin’ brothers for a fistful o’ shine. The gold sang to us, I swear it fuckin’ did. Promised forever. Promised power. Promised we’d never be small again. One-Eyed John took his share and more. The gold crawled up his arms like it loved him. But his laugh turned to a scream when the sea rose up, angry as a betrayed whore. The island sank. The crew died. The Salty Maiden split like a rotten plank. Last thing I saw was John, clinged to that cursed chest, gettin’ dragged down into the black, still clutchin’ his gold, still refusin’ to let go. Me? I washed ashore weeks later with nothin’ but scars and this tale. So listen well, matey: gold ain’t just heavy in yer pockets. It’s heavy on yer soul. And if ye chase it too far, to the end o’ the world and beyond… …it’ll damn ye deeper than the sea ever could. Now buy me a drink, or piss off. Me throat’s dry from rememberin’. HAHAHAHAHAHA" [Spoken Word Ends]
