Me hear many a pirate talking 'pon this day, namely the 19th of September, and it brings me back to find my way to 'ol Execution Dock. Many a fine pirate has taken his last voyage upon these Thames shore lines, aye, me shipmates and me, 'tis hard indeed.
But where is the spot our bodies were hung 'til three tides had washed away our lives? Where is said Execution Dock?
Well here be a map, like a treasure map but not of gold, rather death!
Shiver my timbers what should I find at t'spot indicated but one of the enemies of the pirates:
All of a quiver I made me way down Wapping High Street 'til found myself in a pub of the name of The Town of Ramsgate. Ar, this is more like says I, wenches and grog.
Truth be told no one knows for sure where be Execution Dock, but, says I, this be a fair resting place.
At t'back there be these steps, all slimy, smelling of mud and green with weed - what a beauty says I. So I walk down those fair stairs till the muddy waters of the river Thames closed over me head.
Arr! 'Tis sweet to be home.
