That Bunk

At the end of my watch while in my bunk I lay,
I close my eyes and think of you and quietly I pray,

I offer thanks for all that's gone and all that lies ahead,
Always praying that when I wake, not in my bunk but in your bed,

But I must not joke as I thank the Lord, for you and all good things,
Then I try to sleep but my head it badly rings,

With thoughts of you and all that's past and all that lays ahead,
Yet no matter what, I wake in that bunk instead of in your bed.