Siren, Wistful, Serendipity

That fella there, Odysseus, the poor wretch has had that wistful tortured look, that thousand league stare since his crew—aye, he used to be a captain before he wash set adrift—since his crew let him be swallowed whole by the whale of his damned vices, his hungry eyes that lashed their breaking backs don't draw blood no more—they played the wickedest ruse of all: they simply followed his command. Serendipitous winds brought the rock-home of those sirens in view, malice and stupidity tied him to his mast, and fate gave him just a taste of his first and final desire, hitherto unmet from here to kingdom come.