O Corpie! my Corpie! our fearful trip is done, The frig has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won, The POS is near, the bells I hear, the carebears all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the Rifter grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where out in space my Corpie flies, Fallen cold and dead.