“Salt on my tongue from the spray of the sea.. Drunk on the sun beatin' down on me.. Bound for a treasure that's never been seen.. Where dead men lay their bones.. Blood on my hands from the pull of the rope.. No wind in our sails, so we have to row.. And it's heave-ho or to the locker you'll go.. Where dead men lay their bones. Crossbones, swords and a bottle of rum! No rest for the lily-livered pirate scum! From the dawning of the day to the drowning of the sun! No rest for the lily-livered pirate scum” Eurylochus sings while looking out into the distance of the ocean, Ithaca is not in sight after Eurylochus opened the wind bag two years ago, they were approaching sirens