| The Captain’s fore-arm like buncht-up rope
|
| With A-N-I-T-A wrigglin free onto skull’n’dagger
|
| And a portrait of Christ, nailed to an anchor
|
| Etched into the upper…
|
| Slams his fucken tin-dish down
|
| Our Captain, takes time to crush
|
| Some Bloo-Bottles glowin in his gruel
|
| With a lump in his throat, and lumpy mush
|
| Thumbing a scrap book stuck up with clag
|
| And a morbid lump of Love in his flag.
|
| Done is the Missing, now all that remain
|
| Is to sail forever, upon the stain
|
| Cabin Fever! |
| O o o' Cabin Fever!
|
| The captain’s free-hand is a clearer
|
| Which he fashions his beard’n’he rations his jerkey!
|
| And carves his peg onto the finest mahagony!
|
| Or was it Ebony? |
| etc…
|
| Tallys up his loneliness, notch by notch
|
| For the sea offers nuthin to hold or touch
|
| Notch by notch, winter by winter
|
| Notch x notch, winter x winter
|
| Now his leg is whittled, right down to a splinter
|
| O o Cabin Fever! |
| O o o Cabin Fever!
|
| O the rollin sea still rollin on!
|
| She’s everywhere! |
| now that she’s gone! |
| Gone! |
| Gone!
|
| O Cabin Fever! |
| O Cabin Fever!
|
| Welcome to his table, Beloved-Unconscious
|
| Raisin her host of hair from her crooks
|
| And strugglin to summony one of her looks!
|
| His arm now like coild s-s-s-snakes
|
| Whips all the bottles that he’s drunken,
|
| Like crystal-skittles about the cabin,
|
| Of a ship they’d bin sailing
|
| Five years sunken… etc… |