Lost in the thrashing waters of human despair,
We find ourselves in our domestic solitude,
Fighting the baron and losing the war,
Independence they say is the cause of all strife,
The turn around take a good lond stare,
For all complaints there has to be something,
Something left on which we float,
Otherwise we'll go Sailing Away On A Gravy Boat
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem