Like mud ’neath your feet that’s up to your ankles and caked,
mud past them feet and up to you knees and caked,
mud you can’t see through on covered car window, and caked,
mud that your eyes through cannot see.

Hardly know that it is day.
sun came up first and shone away;
sunlight’s then not there.

Can’t see my feet, seems not even my hands there…eyestrain.
can’t even see down there to my thigh…eyestrain.
For anyone who’s out in a car, I have pity…eyestrain;
for those out there drivin’, I hope they are creepin’.

Hardly know that it is day,
sunlight’s just not there.

Mist’s thick and scattered so no one is seeing;
ghostlike’s the brume in which there’s naught to find.
Mud on your feet when they pound through the gray fen
mud cakes on boots when the fog is relentless.
Mud upon Lugz is a terrible bummer;
muddy’s your bum if you fall the wrong way.
Mud’s price you pay with your limited vision,
muddiness formed from the damp inundation,
Mud between toes although you got your boots on.

So, mud’s past your feet and up to your ankles and caked,
mud further creeps way up to your knees and caked,
mud is rising up close to your “soul windows” and cakes,
mud that those eyes through cannot see.

This might well be your last day:
You’re finally stuck all the way,
till you can’t get air.