With Apologies to Masefield

Head Fever

I must go down to the heads again, to the broken seat and ask why
 Does the lid not fit and the pump not work, however hard I try ?

And the valve's stuck, and the vacuum's gone, and my guts are crying

For a peaceful sh*t, with a detailed book on lunar alts rising.

I MUST go down to the heads again, I can no longer be denied,
It's a wild call and a clear call, though I still retain my pride.

And all I need is one small container, perhaps a black rubber bucket,

A dash below, and then on deck, to leeward I will chuck it.

I MUST GO down to the heads again, the seal is quickly mended,
And the pipes are all cleared, and the outlet works as intended.

All I ask is that the suction sucks, and the smile upon my face
Will 'clipse the sun rising; it's not surprising, the heads is a calmer place.

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