The crisp water sprays
Onto my cold stung face.
The simple pattern of the
Swaying waves.
Back and forth in this simple pattern
Sways the fragile, graying boat.
In its fight against the harsh waters
In the depths below.
Lurking and waiting for a
Boat the likes of mine,
To grasp and pull beneath
The waves to the cold embrace
That many sailors fear.
This cold fate for me is near.
A hole has sprung and water flows,
To wrench me down to the depths below.
And as this cold stung water freezes my feet
I know a special fate I have to meet.
The water is too much to overcome,
And freezes me down to the bones
As the special fate I have to meet,
Is to serve beside Davy Jones.
