Adrift beached on an empty wasteland

The catamaran soon broke up

Scattering sections of her splendour wide

She was quite dead and was being consumed

By the exiles and the creatures of the coast

Yet there was no account of the crew

I looked out into the sea of silver dreams

Which remained at peace within its dry sleep

I sensed only a vacancy of the recent past

A small section of the bow was propped

Against a remnant of another war

Blue white and red paint peeling fast

It was damp cold to the touch

Although the air was morning warm

I then sensed the stench of death

As the prisoners from hell

Were getting nearer