chapter three – the sailor

the sailor comes up from below decks, raving drunk,
mumbling to the crew about the spoiled new kid, degenerate punk.
he spits and he turns, then he stumbles to the stern,
and then he sternly, sloppily faces you, says he'll erase you.

you take a step back and gawk, balk, look around:
these sailors are jailers, no allies nowhere to be found.
nothing but neutral faces and the sea on all sides.
you realize that this drunk could go ahead and end your whole life.

so many stars in the sky
so many fists flying by
what is this road that i try?
and is it time to die?


you get laughed at, wharf rat. spitting up blood, you stand pat.
huffing and heaving, you feel gassed. for an old drunk, he throws fast.
another barrage, straight to the gut, and yet his face is uncut.
you stagger to stern, you stagger to port. the sailor, he laughs with a proud snort.

the others now join in, laughing with breaths of stale gin.
you suddenly wish you had stayed home. the sailor appears like a cyclone.
he's just like a mad dog, hopped up on old grog.
he fakes with the right, he lands with the left, and suddenly all you can see is the deck.

so many stars in the sky
so many fists flying by
what is this road that i try?
and is it time to die?


the ringing in your ears has gotten oh so loud now.
you stagger to your feet again but aren't quite sure how.
the sailor looks at you like, “yo, how is he even still alive?"
he reaches around and grabs his sword. he draws it and then he lets fly.

you turn and then start to run, but looking for help, you find none.
running to bow and running to stern, you notice the sea as it starts to churn.
too drunk or too brave, he notices not the old wave.
you brace yourself and yell to flee, but then with a crash, he's carried to sea.

so many stars in the sky
so many fists flying by
what is this road that i try?