The Old Submariner

I sometimes don’t know where I’m going, but Oh, all the places I’ve been.

Wrapped up in a hull made of steel, with a crew of fine sailors locked in.

The missions are lonely and silent, the dangers untold with no yield,

But we still climb down the steel ladders, the hatches above us are sealed.

The sunlight’s a far distant memory, fresh air just a dream from the past

The world outside comes in short little bursts, from a buoy or a wire or a mast.

Between drilling and watches and work, there’s no place to be secluded

Surrounded by lights and companions, and pressure is always included.

In sub school they taught you the stories, of boats that exceeded design,

And others that found ancient mountains, nearly ending before it was time.

Fires and flooding and things that exploded, in a hull that is closed…