|Living on the stilts
© Copyright George Papavgeris, March 2003
It's funny how two weeks on shore will pass by in a moment
And two weeks on the platform seem to last about a year
But we have just arrived again, around the sea is foaming
And our goodbyes so regular, that no one sheds a tear.
One hundred miles from shore and one more from the bottom
It's easy to believe that we're the only ones alive
So far out of your sight, that we are easily forgotten
As day and night to keep a steady oil flow we strive.
So when you turn on the TV and in the warmth you settle
Or when your god on wheels again with petrol you have filled
For you to do all that we have to live in homes of metal
Surrounded by the angry sea, we're living on the stilts.
Twelve hours working every shift, with seagulls flying below me,
Or diving in the freezing sea, where it is dark as night
I know that Joe the Scottie is but twenty feet behind me
But in this murk I cannot tell my left hand from my right.
I cannot help but think, if I die here, who will know it?
My heart if they stop hearing on the radio control?
And will I draw my last breath through a bloody respirator?
And in a diving suit will angels recognise my soul?
And when the shift is over and I have some time for killing
Where can I stretch my legs without a helmet on my head?
Where can I rest my gaze, when angry waves my eyes are filling?
And all around the stench of oil is heavier than lead.
And as I hear the roar of the big flare that's lit above me
I'm constantly reminded of the hell that lies below
Another thirteen days ahead, and only one behind me
but the devil's messing with my watch and makes it go too slow.
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