Funhole

There's no earthly way of knowing

Which direction we are going

There's no knowing where we're rowing

Or which way the river's flowing

Is it raining, is it snowing?

Is a hurricane a-blowing?

Not a speck of light is showing

So the danger must be growing

Are the fires of Hell a-glowing?

Is the grisly reaper mowing?

Yes, the danger must be growing

For the rowers keep on rowing

And they're certainly not showing

Any signs that they are slowing