In the pages of professor Fitzgibbon
I verified the presence of a vessel
Her mission consisted of prosperous freightage
Gold and other treasure to be commutated

But the cable snapped, her dodger raised
She plunged to the depths of the Torres strait
This pecunious vessel called the Morningstar
Was buried by a copious jumble of feldspar

A matron had escaped, squeezed through the skeg
She paddled to the shore and hoisted the flag
She abandoned ship, but kept close to her womb
Consciousness of where substantial wealth was entombed

She only revealed these abstruse facts
To her lover, the professor who committed them to map
Fitzgibbon disappeared but left his depiction
Of where the fortune slept. But was it fact… or fiction?

Now as I arrive at the muddy bottoms, due east of queensland...
The site of the alleged hairbreadth escape by the matron…

No ship, no gold, no treasure hidden
Just a mummified corpse with a tag that reads "Fitzgibbon"
She fell out of love and sent him to die
With a very academically presented lie