Ice down below, ice up above - I freeze between.
Drill through the bottom, or ram through the top?
There’s always hope - I’ll surface in the end,
Then wait for visas, plugging at my job.

Above me, ice will break up with a bang.
I’m sweating like a ploughman and his horse.
I shall return, like those ships in the song1,
Remembering it all, even old verse.

I’m half my age - a little way past forty.
I’m living, thanks to God and you, my wife.
I have a lot to sing to the Almighty.
I have my songs to justify my life.