Inspired by the song Ship in Distress

Ahoy to the sailors who slide through the gale
all tatters and rags in the deep night of trouble
when she lifts her nose skyward under ripped sails
and shudders and shivers with ominous rumbles
her great weight lifted like a small bobbling cork
her great men thrown down, thrown down the long deck
her majesty and grandeur now company with Baldur
can you hear her mast breaking with a great wailing whack
and the screams of her timbers giving no quarter
Hold fast to the narrows! cries the old master
cries the old master through the wind-split hollows
her great men thrown down, thrown down the long deck
down to the dark, where no men dare follow
thrust up again nightward toward Nótt’s distant speck
dropped down beam-long to the bottom to wallow
Hold fast to the narrows! cries the old master
For we’re not dead yet and soon comes the morrow
Hold fast to the narrows! cries the old master
For we’re not dead yet and soon comes the morrow

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