Longing for the Open Sea

We put into a bay, a little out of the way of the Spaniards

of Portobelo. And when we came ashore, we were tired and spent

from the rum and whores of old Port Royal From the jungle came a cry.

All around we felt the eyes of the natives of Nombre de Dios.

We never saw them pass the mangrove line as they did bide their time

on the coast of Nombre de Dios. Now I'm starving and alone in

this dark jungle, far from home, waiting for death with every breath on the coast

of Nombre de Dios. Wishing I could feel the breath of the open