Pale light, putrid water, excretement.
Through the fog shines a cloudy moon
Smell of old fish reeks from the cellar
People gaze into every stranger's face
One is not very happily confused here
That takes effect for everyone who is lost here
Stranded goods, always washing ashore
The chaff is long sperated from wheat
The rum anesthetizes the biggest misery
The deck scrubber becomes the admiral
Old men kill your humor here
and old, child rearing women with their wrinkly bosom.