From the deck of my white ship

I can see scores of white buses

On the lanes that lead to the coast

They are always there waiting

 

At night I can see illuminated carousels

Spinning wildly in the winter winds

Nobody is riding the stationary horses

And as a sailor I have become used to this

 

To other sailors on my white ship

This grim theatre seems mysterious

So I send them back to their bunks

And tell them that they will understand in time

 

This usually works and I am often left alone

To continue my night watch on the darkened bridge

But others stay and watch the spinning carousels

They do not ask questions as no explanations are required