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So for seven days Of a 1964 kind of mutany We rode on engine sails toward Fiji Across that Capricorn sea Giants were dying on that dung Giants lives were dead on the dung And we were worms seeing it done For after hitting port There came a report That the "Hell Ship Trangie" Did hit the front page And still the architectural man Would grip a further war to wage I had gotten off the ship Unknown malaria in my head And to make the trip a delightful yarn I would beat down the best In American drinking contest Hero hilt never bent to scorn And while my knees buckled not to Australian beer And sheer luck won the Indian wrestling match And although the moon was nice across the balcony of my spinning accomplishment of center man Still the Architectural man's snide smile did show That from bow to stern the midnight blacks For no quid at all counting pence And a meal of mutten small Were tall bronze carrying shit to sea From the five holes down I believed we had conquered Yet still I let myself be sheltered In the youthful deep of a fifty mile jungle By earrings and a mouth and nose so huge They could turn me into a women The ride out I think was by taxie The ride back was by a school bus Next was the hotel of Indian servants Next was the refusing of food Then there was absolute hallucination It took place above the fine bed cloth toward the cantopy Yet for five days I clung to the ways of dizzy tea at noon Before I had layed down into the tempting world of beautiful sickness When frozen in midair I realized I had lost my chance to dream And so broke my will And began to wander in space toward the men's room