It’s getting cold, all signs indicate a storm
There’s only stupid giggling and nagging from the command tower
And a dull grinding sound from the engine.
Rolling and pounding and heavy seas
The band is playing a joyous song
And mad laughter is heard from the latrine.
The cargo is rotten, the papers are fake
The bilge pumps leak and the bulkheads are blocked
The hatches are wide open and all alarm bells are ringing.
The waves are crashing six-foot high into the loading bay
And St Elms fires are seen on the bay deck
Yet nobody on board is able to understand the signs!
