I am a Tin Can Sailor


By Michael R. Morawey, 2008


I am a tin can sailor; you surely know the breed,

Fight’em at sea and fight’em ashore, that was our creed,

Rusted and creaky, our destroyer was tough,

Through many seas, we ploughed our way, mostly when it was rough.


I am a tin can sailor; we took on all who came,

Down those bloody seaways, we fought in courage to fame,

Though often shattered, bone and blood forged anew in steel,

Our ships stood tall, From Sunda Straits to Samar, with God our final appeal.


I am a tin can sailor; we battled under sun, stars and moon,

Bloodied, shredded by steel and fire, prayers lifted to God, please end it soon!

We squeezed off rounds, fifty’s and twenty’s, till barrels burned red,

We stood so long, strapped to our guns: Were we living?  Were we dead?


I am a tin can sailor; my ship hurts, paint blistered, her decks too hot to walk,

We took some big rounds, torn so bad men cried; choked, they couldn’t talk,

Our great ship, hammered and holed, hope all bent and broke,

She foundered and shook and rolled over in battle’s grim smoke.


I am a tin can sailor, now manning a different ship,

Down in Davy Jones locker, I’ve taken that final trip,

Now me and my shipmates, brave were we all,

Have a new ship to man; we answered the call.


I am a tin can sailor; I see my love crying,

Above a quiet grave, stars and stripes flying,

And on that white and gleaming stone, you’ll see these words cut deep,

Here lies the dream of a sailor, who somewhere, unknown, lies asleep.


He is a tin can sailor; this prayer I lift to the sky, as a tree,

We stand alive, because he and his own, died to keep us free,

For us and his country, for this and the flag, his all he gave,

For this land of the free; the home of the brave.