Drifted


Anchors broken by men that wield,
a mighty weapon, mightier than steel.
The chains snap in broad daylight,
yet they think its more than alright.
We lowly swabs send a warning cry,
which goes ignored, and said to be lies.
Aboard the ship, supposed liberation,
ignorance of this hell bent vacation.
Black ink stains their hands,
they're drunk off their promised land.
But with every mile this ship has covered,
death becomes its sinister mother.
From the nest, I see a storm,
climb down below, the people, I warn.
My fellow swabs group together,
yet all the rest ignore the weather.
We try to tell them, but they do as they wish,
so we jump overboard and swim with the fish.
For if a rock has walked on water,
I'll take my chances before the altar.
We've drifted away, away from the shore,
carried out by the tide, free no more.
We're lost at sea, we no longer see,
the land and the home, of the free.

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