Hang on, stitching together your page...
Alone, I can but simmer in this cell,
awaiting what to answer for my crime?
A vat of boiling fat, wood-fired hell?
Not much for me to do but stew, meantime.
It’s said the fish are many in the sea.
I’m caught on how, from all the ocean wide,
And is the word for this amoricide?
She it was that cast that last harpoon,
and pierced my heart, its fate like star-crossed whale,
and that is why I’m swallowed whole by doom,
engulfed in swirling vortex of betrayal.