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I write,
I wish to right my ship
but she´s taken in so much
cold Atlantic water
and cod thrash on the deck.
Seasick, salt crusted,
many, many leagues from port
and the sweetness of women,
I manage to fire a signal rocket for the distressed,
for those who don´t know,
keep working the pumps,
davy jones is putting feelers out for you
keep working the pumps
the masts will break,
you will hallucinate mermaids, porpoises, portuguese men-of-war,
but hydraulics, red and green lights...
yes, you´ll reach land.