In Berth

The ventilation moans a non-stop serenade
Pushing air across the decks of marbled tile gray
The air is filled with grunts and groans of us who dwell within
This cold gray void surrounded by plate steel we call a skin
Bright light—it pierces every part as if to make us falter
And wraps us neatly in at night in racks we call coffin lockers
Organized as little things among a higher being,
We settle in as if this hulk was here to do our keeping
Our bodies rest on pads too thin to serve a healthy lad
We wake a bit more battered for a good rest still not been had
We occupants arise and roll to step on cold and dress
Rarely do you hear complaint of ill or of distress

The voice that sounds without a word is heard within this berth
The absence of a loved one waiting somewhere here on earth

We put our lives out on the line. With honor we serve gladly
Equipped to fight in any war 'cept that of social apathy