I’m sailing to Tarshish as usual.
The air is thick,
Its walls are greyish white,
This desk light flickers intermittently.
Let me be plain:
Being good in your sort of way
Does not appeal to me.
Why would I go to Nineveh?
The parking’s diabolical
And the people there
Are not my type.
Some send out for Domino’s every night,
Most have no notion of eternity.
How could you care for them?
I have a feeling that you prefer them
Which doesn’t seem right.
They have no ear for music
And why should they need to hear my voice
When there’s always a catch to it?
No one likes me on this ship
But I’m indifferent.
I’d rather suffer as I want.
I’ve always loved the sea,
Its roiling creatures,
Molten pewter under malachite.
