Severe

(The Eye Of The Storm)

Satan’s setting sail and the seas are swelling up
Sky’s slung dark and low slipping quickly to the south
Seven sailing souls sharing an overflowing cup
Batten down the hatches with a grimace on their mouth
Solemnly turned to duty drawing sisal ‘cross the lap
Lashed down to the benches concentrating on the row
Treachery through tempest tossed Tormented in the trap
Today and forever wandering the waves of woe

 

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