The Sighting Is A Portent Of Doom

In the age of electricity and oil, my tugboat ploughs through waveless liquid soil
Cruising at thirteen knots on pitch black sea
There's a strange object on the radars in front of me. Still nothing I can see
Just an open dreary sea...

Several attempts to contact that what appeared to be the size of a ship
No response 'till I receive transmissions of hostile nature
These voices cursing my goddamn name
Hell, is this witchcraft or am I insane?

All of a sudden a dark silhouette ascends through godlike mist
While it comes closer, I recognize the image of an old deserted ship.

I am aghast at the sight of a derelict vessel sailing this awkward night, appearing like a black floating cadaver
There's not one single man aboard
Her torn sails cloaking her like a cobwebbed widow, posing against this sad nightmarish horizon.

The temperature suddenly dropped
My great-grandfather's clock, just ticking, now stopped
I am smothered by a sudden shroud of fear
For there's a ghost ship 'pon a funereal quest
With a black bird circling hypnotic around its rocking empty crow's nest.

Fortunately this atrocious mystery sets sail away from me
Some sailors claim other seamen beheld such sights
Most died weird deaths during fog-clad days and nights
The ship vanished as suddenly as it appeared
Should I feel fear? Was it even there?