I loved a fair miss,
From the city of Dis.
Who had but one wish,
The Phlegeton to fish.
So I conjured a boat,
From the skull of a goat.
And we took the boat out,
And went fishing for trout.
But the fishing was bad,
And it drove my love mad.
And as it grew late,
I ran out of bait.
So I butchered that Miss,
From the city of Dis.
I dismembered that lass,
My hooks held her flesh fast.
Then I threw my lines out,
And caught trout after trout.
I had fishsticks that night,
They were such a delight.
Now, when fishing I go,
There's one thing I know.
That the fish around here,
Hold human flesh dear.
So the ladies I date,
I use them for bait.
And the fish that I catch,
No one can match.
And the sign on my door,
It reads nothing more.
Than, 'A fishing I've gone,
On the fun Phlegeton.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Do the boiling souls mixed with the human flesh really give the fish a kick?