SCRIPT CONTENT
There be no secret gold. It’s naught but a myth, Captain. Aye, I’ve got a map, but ye don’t strike me as the type tae chase echoes in search o’ sirens. Many a soul have sailed here, but the trouble ain’t where tae drop anchor; it’s the blasted riddle!
Below the level,
Cold an’ dark,
Above the bed,
Reveal wi’ a spark.
… How’re ye supposed tae light a fire underwater, Captain? Some scallywag’s just lookin’ tae make a fool of any poor soul who tries.