Oak Island

In Mahone Bay where legends lie,
Oaks bend low as whispers fly,
Money Pit’s lure—riches untold,
Seven must fall before the gold.

Digging down, deeper they go,
In shafts and tunnels row by row,
Flood traps spring and waters rise,
The island laughs with curse-sed eyes.

Oak Island Treasure, mystery's grip,
Fortune calls but souls might slip,
Dig and dig through mud and stone,
Gold or bones—no one’s alone.

The swamp was built where islands meet,
A Spanish galleon’s bones still sleep
Stone pathways curve and bend,
Where do they start? Where do they end?

Digging down, deeper they go,
In shafts and tunnels row by row,
Paths of stone and shifting sands,
Who carved fate with cunning hands?

Oak Island Treasure, mystery's grip,
Fortune calls but souls might slip,
Dig and dig through mud and stone,
Gold or bones—no one’s alone.

Lot Five's secrets buried deep,
What treasures does its silence keep?
Curse-sed ground or hollowed vault,
Who built it all, who’s at fault?

One crew or many through the years,
Pirates, Templars, privateers?
Did they hide it all at once,
Or build it piece by piece—no fronts?

Digging down, deeper they go,
In shafts and tunnels row by row,
Swamp’s embrace and hidden trail,
Whose design? Whose holy grail?

Oak Island Treasure, mystery's grip,
Fortune calls but souls might slip,
Dig and dig through mud and stone,
Gold or bones—no one’s alone.

Echoes haunt the island's core,
Questions rise but answers bore,
Who’s the ghost that guards the prize?
Truth or legend, curse or lies?