• A nautical squeal, some forty below
    The seaweed jerking, the snowy white glow
    It waits in the deep, quiet and still
    It shines its own light, and waits for the kill

    The fish, they all know it, and fish do not lie
    They head for toward the light, and afterward die
    No fish can resist, its too dark around
    From the liquid clear air, to the snowy white ground

    Its jaws are quite deadly, he wants you to know
    He opens his mouth when you notice his glow
    So I warn you right now, where ever you go
    Beware of his light, some forty below

    The sorrowed poet