TITANIC

TITANIC The seawater around my ankles is so cold Who’d have thought in this final moment That when my time is near, I’d be smiling Well, it is more of an ironic grin, perhaps Damn those tea leaves, they kind of knew I just scoffed – back then, but not now As the deck lurches again, and I stumble Some muffled creaking sounds from above Who would be in any doubt that we’re lost I guess the North Atlantic claims another And all that I have to record my thoughts Is a fountain pen and a pile of wet paper Back in my cabin that’s somewhere nearby My unfinished novel, what inspiration now None will ever read it or remember me Some forgotten prospective author, huh The cold water is now lapping at my waist I have nowhere to go, except … down These last few years have been tolerable But my New York debut will have to wait Probably a very long time. Ghost writers. I could have made it in the land of dreams Leaving the damp fog of London behind There are none nearby who will listen Except that one face down over there But now the last lights have gone out It’s dark now, so all I have is my thoughts And this damned water making me float As my head now bumps on the ceiling What a voyage this was, clearly to oblivion So there is no-one to say goodbye to Except the fish, when they investigate So long and all the best - better than me I’ll see Davy Jones when I check in soon Just thoughts, eh. I expected to do better