After all the fighting and scrabbling,weeping and wailing and even after all that pointless bailing out,
I think the ship will sink,
who'll be left to fight then,to wail when we have become them among the sunken dreams?

The trailing of men with their means across the ocean floor,a storehouse of skeletal bone,
I look on in sepia tones, like looking at old photographs and listening to old gramophones and there's salt in my eyes,
I drink this surprise away and know there'll be another day when tears appear to fall in the fall,
and I fall into the disrepair of despair.

Once the mighty ship and now no trace.
I scan with binocular vision the horizon which drips blood on the sea and Galilee is not there
only me watching on with despair
and salt in my eyes.