By: Hill/Jantsang/Marsh - 1985

Few can remember the day and year
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere
'Twas the sixteenth of April in seventy-five,
When the first acts of mating were done and did thrive.

They sprang from the ocean with one thing in mind:
To meld with their Nation the blood of mankind.
The day was auspicious, the day of the Feast,
They joyfully praised the name of the Priest

Who was of their minions and first saw the Sign
That was of great favor to those of their kind;
To spring forth with fervor and gleefully mix,
With yokel and farmer and burgher and hicks.

Now Paul was from Boston, and though of the Clan,
He thought in his folly that he was a man;
For none of his kinfolk were eager to brag,
But spoke in low whispers about the old hag

That grand-dad had married and kept on the sly,
Until he no longer was able to lie.
She bore twenty children and each had her mark:
The gills of the fish, the strength of a shark.

One day she was gone, the ocean had beckoned,
Her brood passed around, as fortune had reckoned;
Young Paul had been raised by a cranky step-mother
Who never made mention to him of his brothers,

Or of the old dame that he'd never see,
Or the strength of the blood or the Call of the sea.
'Twas on this night then, the night of their Feast,
That Paul had espied a mob on the beach.

Thinking them Red Coats, towards town with dispatch,
He hastened to warn of the British to catch;
But as he rode quickly and drew close to town,
His horse took a stumble and tossed to the ground.

He thus had to wander on foot into town,
And got there just as the mob drew around;
The Priest gave a cry, the mob fell with glee
To slaughter the men-folk, but they let Paul be.

'Twas then that the Call in Paul, formerly latent,
Exploded in full, his instincts now blatant:
He charged in howling like an afreet,
'Till all of the men-folk lay dead in the street.

With no one to stop the grand melee,
The Deep Ones pounced on their helpless prey,
Storming the cottages, houses, all:
As reeds in a tempest, the town was to fall.

Dragging the maids to the village square
Held by their arms or their wrists or hair,
Once in the courtyard there was no respite
For the toys of the fish-folk the rest of the night.

Screaming and weeping, frozen with fright,
The girls all a-tremble trust not in their sight
That such folks as these were loose in their town,
Or that their men-folk were not to be found.

And they at the mercy of fish-men from Hell,
A croaking frog-babble, a terrible smell.
Ever forward! Never retreat!
Thundering hither on wide-webbed feet.

Foraging forward, six-hundred strong,
A rampaging, frothing, lusting throng,
Pillaging houses, forest and glen:
Taking more women and killing more men.

Leaving a wake of damage and waste,
In flopping, bleating, hopping haste,
Scouring country, marsh, and glade
For nubile lasses, spinster or maid,

'Till none of the women who had not yet been
With one or more of the thronging frog-men.
Stomach to stomach, a powerful wave,
The women discovered what all fish-men crave.

None could resist them, none could escape
Their furious pillaging, looting and rape.
Ten minutes of passion, the deed was then done,
They'd finish their purpose and choose the next one.

Almost 'till morning the orgy did rage,
Each woman was taken regardless of age.
The passion abated, their seed widely sown,
They swam silently back to a homeland unknown.

The women got over the violence and crime
And knew they'd be mothers when it became time.
So thus begotten the first of their Race,
That shortly would flourish with Innsmouth their base

For all future actions to further their line,
And finally mix with and out-breed mankind.
Thus is the future, thus will it be:
The men of the Earth will be men of the Sea.

Now all of you readers who have been well-schooled:
Did the history you learned of Revere have you fooled?
For this is the truth, not told to another:
I should know best for I am his mother!