O FC! my FC! our fearful trip is done;
My Atron has weather’d every gate, the button we sought is won;
The station is near, the cheers I hear, the coms all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady guns, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the flotsam of twisted wreckage,
Where on the nebulae my FC lies,
O FC! my FC! Relog coms and ding Vents bells;
Rise up—for you the fleet is holding—for you we faced Hells;
For you LP and factions rewards—for you the newbies a-twitter;
For you they call, the chaotic mass, their eager voices spurring;
Here FC! dear fellow!
The stars beneath your head;
It is some dream that in your vat,
You’ve fallen disconnected.
My FC does not answer, his corpse spins in space;
My fellow does not heed the coms, he has no pulse nor will;
His ship is but cosmic dust, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, my victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O stations, and ring, O channels!
But I, with mournful dread,
Fly the stars where my FC lies,