She sat on the deck of the Esmeraldas playing chess with the cabin boy
But lost every game
He knew of her heart of glass
And read her every move
His name was Sante Geronimo Caserio
The week before we had been in Italy
Visiting the quarries at Carrara
As I was a sculptor
Seeking inspiration
Marble what marble?
She said as we toured the quarry
They are all anarchists like you
My dress has become soiled by the dusts of this hideous quarry
And my eyes are smarting in the afternoon breeze
The air is unclean
Let us leave this wretched place
I did return to Carrara a week later
To watch the marble being quarried
During my time there I also met fellow anarchists
Who were plotting insurrection
I advised them that a bullet or a dagger
In the right place
Could change everything
Power is confined
To a few men
And if these men are assassinated
Then the mould is broken
Whilst I was away Martha visited the Duomo di Carrara
She had stolen one of my working tools
And had attacked the façade of the cathedral
She had been arrested
But did not release my name
I found her in jail and paid her fines
But we were still banished from the country of my birth
Sail this ship into Tilbury
The queen awaits us there
We shall kidnap her and hold her country to ransom
But I will not complete this task
As my heart is made of glass
And shatters easily
Martha was speaking to the cabin boy in hushed tones
In her velvet purse
She had hidden the toe of one of the saints
It had been stolen from a church in Rome
The cabin boy looked at the withered toe
And threw it into the sea
Seqa Seqa
Cried a seabird as it passed overhead
The cry of the seabird had been a warning
For within hours we had run into a violent storm
Our ship died on the rocks of an isolated island
And only Martha and the cabin boy survived
I clung to a piece of wreckage
For four years and forty days
Before I was rescued by a passing ship
I found my way to Bristol
And told my story to a stranger in an inn
He did not believe me
But wrote a book
Detailing my adventures
I believe it sold well
But it did not make my fortune
No trace was ever found of the island where the Esmeraldas sank
But it is there as I saw it with my own eyes
I know that Martha and the cabin boy survived
As once a year I received a letter from them
Posted in a bottle
They are plotting revolution on the pristine beaches of their pink paradise
I inform the authorities
But they think me mad
Soiled by my ordeal
Which suits me
They leave me alone to sculpt the soft marble
From the quarries of Carrara
I sculpt the likenesses of dead anarchists
Which I sell in Bristol Town
Nobody suspects me
I am almost invisible
At the moment I am just a sleeping snake
But Martha and the cabin boy
Will awaken this serpent
And I will change history