The Regalia was old, and an old, browned-out red,

Like Dijon moutard on which someone had bled;

Bound east from Coconava.

She was registered, maybe, in San Salvador

And she flew certain flags from before the Great War.

Who speaks of Ponte Vedra?

..or of where that bastardly boiler was from;

From hell is my geuss where it doubtless had come

in handy for tough cases.

And the crew? Well, the crew was a Dani-El's den,

of butt-fuckers, banshees and sad tongue less men

who lived for conversation.

It was they who were first to report the disease

which spread to the rats and illegal Chinese

put on at Surabaya.

And at night came the jim-jams, at night came the cries;

of murder and merger and God damn their eyes

in half a hundred lingos.

And believe me, the blackman himself would turn pale,

If made to stand watch in a towering gale,

half mad with Java fever.

And by this point I didn't know chowder from chum

For ever since Oudh I'd been cutting the rum

with laudanum and ether.

But I did see a merman off Porto Design,

an elderly fellow, he held up a sign,

It read: "They know you're coming."

In the straights of Malacca a monster appeared,

accepted our cook and said, "Don't be afeared.

The world's no worse than you are."

That maybe, but it isn't a cure for the pox,

The ones with the balls and a brain in their box

Jumped ship in Yokohama.