Over the ocean
we rail and scream

Timbers shiver timbers quiver
Groans grate our ears
with the wind whipping and wailing

Not the cold nor the rain
nor icicles on our backs
nor hammers on our limbs

A rusty machine
we churn butter
and churn
our wheels and togs and clogs and gears
turn

So the ship rolls over the ocean
leaps and bounds in between
like a gazelle at home
we the tics, the leeches, and the virus's
who cling to the host
for dear life