The Icelandic Banker's Song

After reading the Wall Street Journal article mentioned in the previous post, I wrote a poem. I still have to check the spelling and maybe do some more tinkering, but I like it.

A banker’s life is the finest life
That’s known to man or God.
You sit inside, and you don’t get wet
Hauling up haddock and cod.

You stay inside, and you don’t get wet,
And you hardly ever drown;
Though you might be seen with brennivin
Wandering through the town.

But I’d rather drown in brennivin
Than sink in the salty brine,
And handle lines of credit
Instead of a fishing line.

When I was young I went to sea,
And I thought I was a fool
To spend my day in the icy spray
Instead of in business school.

So I flew away to the USA
And got myself a degree
And settled down at the Landisbank,
And scorned the rolling sea.

You’d never think that a bank could sink
Like a fishing boat in a storm,
And the crew go down to an ugly fate
Under the churning foam.

Nothing is sure, the High One said
A thousand years ago.
Even wearing a business suit,
You can find yourself below

Where the fishes swim in the salty dim,
And the old seafarers sleep;
And so I curse, though it could be worse.
I could be herding sheep.

A banker’s life is the finest life
That’s known to man or God.
I’m going back to Isafjord
To haul up haddock and cod.

Note 1: I apologize to Icelandic sheep farmers for stanza eight. I like Icelandic sheep. Look at my profile photo. But I needed a rhyme for sleep; and there must be Icelanders who'd rather fish.

Note 2: I can find Landisbank on the Internet, but only in non-Icelandic posts. It seems to be a varient of Landsbanki, the name of one of the three banks that went down. I'm keeping it for the time being, because Landsbanki does not scan as well.