[Verse 1] Oh the lanes of Decoy’s sov are a cold, hard track, Where the stargates groan like a beast’s cracked back. Travelers whisper with a trembling jaw, For the border guards here love the law. Papers, please — though none survive; The forms are wrong, though they always “tried.” And the stamp they fear with a shiver deep Is the one that says “You’ll Never Leave.” [Chorus] So haul away, you lost‑and‑strayed, No visa here has ever been made. Decoy stands with a grin half‑played — The kind that means you're doomed. For little do the roamers know There’s humor in this undertow: A joke, a jab, a fatal “Oh?” As the gate lights seal their tomb. [Verse 2] BJK stands first on the checkpoint’s stair, Vigilant hull catching starlit glare. Machariel engines rumble low, Like a judge deciding how you’ll go. “Your papers? Wrong. Your purpose? Lies.” With a playful blink in those watchful eyes. Before the roamers can even plead, The webbing starts — a “routine” deed. [Verse 3 — The Checkpoint Crew] Behind the desk you’ll find the crew, A grim-faced team with jobs to do: Havok checks intent and sin, A captain’s stare that drills right in. Beetles weighs what your cargo means With drone‑like cold efficiency. Azawrath drains your hope and plea, A quiet clerk of entropy. And Jeammah signs the final mark, A flourish bold, a verdict dark. Four border clerks in nullsec’s night, Who process souls with bleak delight. [Verse 4] Then Chris rolls in with a Nestor’s hum, A priest in robes of armor-plum. Soft voice, warm tone, a healer’s grace — But not for you, dear lost-in-space. For Chris inspects with saintly poise, Then mutters, “Forms? These are just noise.” And with a bureaucrat’s gentle nod, You’re filed away — “Returned to God.” [Verse 5] And then comes Tisme, dread and dire, A Machariel wreathed in funeral fire. Pirate bones in its engines sing, An omen on blackened wing. “Denied, denied,” the chorus cries, As Tisme locks with hungry eyes. Your lane is closed, your fate decreed — A border check you will not beat. [Chorus] So haul away, you lost‑and‑strayed, No visa here has ever been made. Decoy stands with a grin half‑played — The kind that means you're doomed. For little do the roamers know There’s humor in this undertow: A joke, a jab, a fatal “Oh?” As the gate lights seal their tomb. [Bridge] Stamp the forms — rejected. Seal their fate — expected. Customs here are cruel, collected, Sung in minor key. Yet every guard with glint‑sharp eyes Hides chuckles under solemn guise, For what is law but misapplied In nullsec’s cold decree? [Final Chorus] So haul away, you travelers bleak, Who came through sov for one short peek. Decoy’s borderguards don’t speak — Their verdict’s carved in void. A dark farewell, a gallows cheer, A wink that says, “You’re welcome here.” Denied in song, denied with beer — Your passports, now destroyed. [Outro] So if you roam these haunted lanes, Remember well the guards and chains. For Decoy’s humor, darkly stained, Is the last joke you’ll survive.
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