The Men Who Sail Below
Now each of us,
from time to time, have gazed upon the sea,
and watched the
warships pulling out, to keep the country free.
And most of us
have read a book, or heard a lousy tale,
about the men who
sail these ships, through lightning wind and hale.
But there is a
place within each ship, that legend fails to teach
it's down below
the water line, and takes a awful toll,
a red hot metal
living hell, those sailors call the hole.
It houses engines
run by steam, that make the shafts go round,
a place of fire,
noise and heat, that beats your spirit down.
Where boilers make
a hellish heat, with blood of angry steam,
and molded gods
without remorse are nightmares in your dreams
Where threat from
the fires roar, is like living in doubt,
that any minute,
would with scorn, escape and crush you out,
where turbines
scream like tortured souls, alone and lost in hell.
Those men who keep
the fires lit and make the engines run,
are strangers to
the world of night, and rarely see the sun.
They have no time
for man no beast, no tolerance for fear,
their aspect pays
no living thing the tribute of a tear.
For there's not
much that men can do, that these one's haven't done,
below the decks,
deep in the hole, to make those engines run.
And every hour of
every day they keep the watch in hell,
for if the fires
ever fail, their ship's a useless shell.
When warships meet
to have a war, upon an angry sea,
the men below just
grimly smile at what their fate may be.
Turned too below,
like men fore-doomed, who wear no battle cry,
it's well assumed
that if they're hit, the men below will die.
Foe every day's a
war down there, when the gauges all read red,
six hundred pounds
of heated steam will kill you mighty dead.
So if you ever
write their song or try to tell their tale,
the very words
will make you hear, a fired furnace wall.
And people as a
general rule, don't hear of men of steel,
so little's heard
about this place, just inches from the keel.
But I can sing
about this and try to make you see,
the hardened life
of men down there, cause one of them is me.
I've seen these
sweat soaked heroes fight, in superheated air,
to keep their ship
alive and right, though no one knows they're there.
And thus they'll
fight for ages on, till warships sail no more,
amid the boilers
mighty heat and turbines hellish roar.
So when you see a
ship pull out, to meet a warlike foe,
remember faintly
if you can "the men who sail below"
Author Unknown