I be born of pressure, a pirate's delight, Harder than most, and ever so bright. I sparkle and gleam, a king's ransom it seems, What am I, me hearty, fulfillin' yer dreams?

Upon the grave, New life has come, All for the eyes, and some for the tongue, Some are surprise, And all devour sun, Not a baking supply, But sounds just like one.

I hide a needle though I’m made of none, golden and piled beneath the sun.

Where sand whispers secrets old, of treasures lost and pirates bold. No man is an island and neither am i, but you are sure to find me nearby.

Language of the depleted Spoken by man and beast Carrying the silhouette of a roar I am to a roar, what banality is to brutality