Mariners have feared the sirens' calls since time began,
warning how Ulysses fought to survive
against the deadly bewitchment of soft, wet hands
and sweet, throaty voices singing, "Come to me...".
The elders warn the young when first they board
that these seductive airs will drown the thoughts and
fill the baser senses of a man until no prayer
or purpose can stem the tempting plea, "Come to me...".
The sea has taken many men who could not forbear
the mournful, desperate cries for passion's release.
Having fended off their would-be saviors, they
steer into the storm and drown for answering, "Come to me...".
The creature's beseeching as sincere as any woman's heart,
an ancient loneliness drives her cruel lust to lure.
She does not see the hungry maw that opens for her love
amid the craggy rock. Death takes him while yet she sings, “Come to me...”.
Be warned the cursed, winged beast with voice so warm,
her desolation closes around the sailor’s soul.
Hold fast to your task with your bounty and mates,
sail past this fate until you cannot hear its “Come to me...”
Come to me, come to me, my beloved,
I have waited here for you forever.
I am so cold and need your strong embrace.
Only you can quench my longing. Come to me...
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