I'll dive down, my dear, down deep.
Dive down in a dastardly dive to the depths.
Past the Pacific's specific pretty swells and pests.
Placed in purgatory, pressed by pressure in peculiar places.

Be I broken? Be I busted? Be I brought to the bottom of the sea?
Be I beaten? Be I baffled? Be I back broken and sinking to the bottom of the bay?
Sinking? No, not I. I am not sinking, so say I am simply swimming and singing songs.
Slyly say that I swim with swagger, never sadly screaming, but sighing in my soaked sarcophagus.