Cue the minstrel music....
The day was new and the sky grew bright.
Excitement filled me to the brim.
I was to have my first mission since a fortnight
But low, boarding the ship, I saw him.
Hair a ruffled, clothes unkempt, a blank stare upon his eye.
Our pilot, our captain, this young bit of scruff
Who put this boy on the helm?
He carried a spyglass in one hand and in the other a buff.
Has insanity fell on this realm?
And what shall we be flying, oh captain of mine?
A Pyramidian, Goldfish, our something of ease?
A Galleon, he says without waste of words or time.
He needs not speak to folks such as these.
We take to the skies with resigned hearts.
We know this battle will likely be our last.
Our fellow ships fly North to the fray, while to the South our pilot departs.
Our pleads fall to deaf ears as he decides to climb the mast.
Minutes or hours pass, we could not tell.
Our intrepid helmsman finally joins the fleet.
Alas, oh alas, we found a fresh hell
This was the fate we expected to meet.
Onward we fly at the foes, straight as an arrow.
'GET RECKED" he shouts in a smug little quip.
Charging with the confidence of a bull, but the brains of a sparrow
He does not know the guns are on the side of the ship.
The splinters fly.
The engines cry.
The ships all die.
We all know why.
It is the fault of the Sky Tour Pilot.
Serious suggestion:Place aiming marks on the side of the Galleon for easy reference. Paint marks, chalk, pegs, cross-hair stuck in the railing anything to help new pilots instinctively line enemies up with actual guns.