Cabin Fever! - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

The Captain’s fore-arm like buncht-up rope

With A-N-I-T-A wrigglin free onto skull’n’dagger

And a portrait of Christ, nailed to an anchor

Etched into the upper…

Slams his fucken tin-dish down

Our Captain, takes time to crush

Some Bloo-Bottles glowin in his gruel

With a lump in his throat, and lumpy mush

Thumbing a scrap book stuck up with clag

And a morbid lump of Love in his flag.

Done is the Missing, now all that remain

Is to sail forever, upon the stain

Cabin Fever!

O o o' Cabin Fever!

The captain’s free-hand is a clearer

Which he fashions his beard’n’he rations his jerkey!

And carves his peg onto the finest mahagony!

Or was it Ebony?

etc…

Tallys up his loneliness, notch by notch

For the sea offers nuthin to hold or touch

Notch by notch, winter by winter

Notch x notch, winter x winter

Now his leg is whittled, right down to a splinter

O o Cabin Fever!

O o o Cabin Fever!

O the rollin sea still rollin on!

She’s everywhere!

now that she’s gone!

Gone!

Gone!

O Cabin Fever!

O Cabin Fever!

Welcome to his table, Beloved-Unconscious

Raisin her host of hair from her crooks

And strugglin to summony one of her looks!

His arm now like coild s-s-s-snakes

Whips all the bottles that he’s drunken,

Like crystal-skittles about the cabin,

Of a ship they’d bin sailing

Five years sunken… etc…