Diesel fumes had weeks ago given way to an imposed and permanent silent drifting whose own mephitic lullabye repels all surprise. I slept bell after bell Rope after rope Fish after fish In my dirty cotton hammock Twelve knots of repair Mark my time away from home My boredom often permits a daydream where those same knots are no longer in my hammock but under the waters surface being dragged in our wake But by St. Osmund's testicles tonight that hammock got the better of the sea - knots undone, it dropped my rusting ass to the deck! And now as I look out over the water I swear I feel a breeze