Cabin fever

 

The bogs stink of fever in the ships port side;
The men of the boat are all slowly dying.
Poison in the food, served by the cooks below deck;
A destruction of the heart and a swelling of necks.


All left for dead, by the cook of death.
Pity and remorse are best left for dead.
Leave your sorrow at the door;
I have nothing but contempt, for all aboard.


The log cabin in winter in the remotest of places;
My Wife and I are stuck inside, going stir crazy.
I am Jack Nicholson in the Shining; losing the plot is such fun.
That bitch!  Aargh!  Help me!  There is nowhere to run.


(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.