THE HOLE

NOW EACH OF US FROM TIME TO TIME,
HAS GAZED UPON THE SEA,
AND WATCHED THE WARSHIPS PULLING OUT,
TO KEEP THIS COUNTRY FREE.

AND MOST OF US HAVE READ A BOOK,
OR HEARD A LUSTY TALE,
ABOUT THE MEN WHO SAIL THESE SHIPS,
THROUGH LIGHTNING, WIND, AND HAIL.
BUT THERE'S A PLACE WITHIN EACH SHIP,
THAT LEGENDS FAIL TO TEACH,

IT'S DOWN BELOW THE WATERLINE
AND TAKES A LIVING TOLL....
A HOT METAL LIVING HELL,
THE SAILORS CALL THE HOLE.

IT HOUSES THE ENGINES RUN BY STEAM,
THAT MAKES THE SHAFT GO ROUND.
A PLACE OF FIRE, NOISE, AND HEAT
THAT BEATS YOUR SPIRIT DOWN.

WHERE BOILERS LIKE HELLISH HEARTS,
WITH BLOOD OF ANGRY STEAM,
ARE MOLDED GODS WITHOUT REMORSE,
ARE NIGHTMARES IN A DREAM.

YOU HAVE NO TIME FOR MAN OR GOD,
NO TOLERANCE FOR FEAR,
YOUR ASPECT PAYS NO LIVING THING,
THE TRIBUTE OF A TEAR.

FOR THERE'S NOT MUCH THAT MAN CAN DO,
THAT THESE MEN HAVEN'T DONE,
BENEATH THE DECKS, DEEP IN THE HOLE,
TO MAKE THE ENGINES RUN.

AND EVERY HOUR OF EVERY DAY,
THEY KEEP THE WATCH IN HELL,
FOR IF THEIR FIRES EVER FAIL,
THEIR SHIPS A USELESS SHELL.

WHEN SHIPS CONVERGE TO HAVE A WAR,
UPON AN ANGRY SEA,
THE MEN BELOW JUST GRIMLY SMILE
AT WHAT THEIR FATE MAY BE.

THEY'RE LOCKED BELOW LIKE MEN FOREDOOMED,
WHO HEAR NO BATTLE CRY,
IT'S WELL ASSUMED THAT IF THEY'RE HIT,
THE MEN BELOW WILL DIE.

FOR EVERY DAY'S A WAR DOWN THERE,
WHEN GAUGES READ RED,
SIX HUNDRED POUNDS OF HEATED STEAM,
CAN KILL YOU MIGHTY DEAD.

I'VE SEEN THESE SWEAT SOAKED HEROES FIGHT
IN SUPER HEATED AIR,
TO KEEP THERE SHIP ALIVE AND RIGHT,
THOUGH NO ONE KNOWS THEY'RE THERE.

AND THUS THEY'RE FOR AGES ON,
TIL WARSHIPS SAIL NO MORE,
AMID THE BOILERS MIGHTY HEAT,
AND THE TURBINES MIGHTY ROAR.

SO WHEN YOU SEE THE WARSHIPS PULL OUT,
TO MEET A WARLIKE FOE,
REMEMBER FAINTLY, IF YOU CAN,
THE MEN WHO SAIL BELOW.

AUTHOR UNKNOWN