Cabin fever de Nick Cave And The Bad Seeds

The captain's fore-arm like bunched-up rope
with a-n-i-t-a wrigglin' free on a skull'n'dagger
and a portrait of christ, nailed to an anchor
etched into his
o o o' cabin fever
o o o' cabin fever
slams his fucken tin-dish down
our captain, takes time to crush
some bloo-bottles glowin in his gruel
with a lump in his throat, and lumpy mush
thumbing a scrapbook stuck up with clag
and a morbid lump of love in his flags.
done is the missing, now all that remain
is to sail forever, upon the stain
cabin fever o o o' cabin fever

the captain's free-hand is a cleaver
which he fashions his beard, n' he rations his jerkey
and carves his peg outa the finest mahagony
or was it ebony?

tallies up his loneliness, notch by notch
for the sea offers nuthin to hold or touch
notch by notch, winter by winter
notch x notch, winter x winter

now his leg is whittled, right down to a splinter
o o cabin fever o o o cabin fever
o the rollin sea still rollin on
she's everywhere now that she's gone gone gone
o cabin fever o cabin fever

welcome to his table, beloved-unconscious
raisin her host of hair from her crooks
and strugglin to summony one of her looks
his arm now like coiled s-s-s-snakes
whips all the bottles that he's drunken,
like crystal - skittles about the cabin,
of a ship they'd been sailing

five years