Ficly

Siren Song

Her song was the object that drew him in,
Despite the protests of his fellow men;
“Don’t fall victim,” they cried, trying to save,
But to her voice he was already slave.

Beauty was bait for her ravenous trap,
One in which ever more men became wrapped;
’Twas no matter to her, livestock were they,
She was simply predator, and men, prey.

Hunger, the instinct that out her song,
Bringing men begging, knowing it is wrong;
Yet they longed to feed her beautiful voice,
And it seemed as though it was sailors’ choice.

Driven from ships and into the water,
The desire to feed growing hotter,
And all at once, devoured at last.
Leaving but the sails hanging on their mast.

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