The Guts

A weathered eye on the horizon keep,
It is four hours till you'll get to sleep,
Listening to wooden hull it creaks,
Can you see through the darkness creep.

Two bells in the morning an eerie sound,
No ship or ghostly foe around,
No other sailor on deck is found,
A bit to Port as the wheel goes round.

Cursed waters are right ahead,
Do not deviate the Navigator said,
Don't loose your nerve or loose your head,
Or in Davy Jones Locker when you are dead.

Mermaids lure the sailor near,
Mystical songs is what we hear,
Beautiful in looks but you live in fear,
Better pass out on rum and beer.

Bell tolls four and all is well,
Relief is coming cos' I can tell,
Tonight I won't be going to hell,
My hammock bed I now do smell.