Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; Whenever it is damp, drizzly November in my soul; Whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouse, And bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; And especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me that it requires a strong moral principal to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. |