Two years spent before the mast
And no one knows the secrets that we're hiding
If word got loose, you'd face the lash
And thirteen loops would hold me fast and silent
Things are not always as they seem to be, outside us
The Devil got poor Persephone, but they can't take you from me
Mr. Jones done made a mistake; it's all business
Worse thing than the watery grave with Porichthys
I found her behind a barrel of grain in the hold, listless
A hollow, half hatter, dismayed, frayed princess
But I guess I've gone soft in my age, they call it instinct
The rebels get the devil to pay her the cat kissing
The gunner's daughter; know I oughta send her to the brig
But the strongest knots still give in still water and calm winds
And all things aren't what they seem to be in
That small wall separating Earth from Eden
One rib did give Eve a meaning
And one snip might could keep a secret
With her short hair there and a change of clothing
Fit right and work soaking oakum
And in four fortnights, she'll unload with the opium
And might slip by buffer and boatswain
Two years spent before the mast
And no one knows the secrets that we're hiding
If word got loose, you'd face the lash
And thirteen loops would hold me fast and silent
Things are not always as they seem to be, outside us
The Devil got poor Persephone, but they can't take you from me
With every snip of the shears
A fist of her hair took to the air handsomely
'Til it floated down among the the clouds
Reflected on the glassy sea
When the winds disappeared, the crew stripped
Almost bare, and bathed in a transfixed state
And all things are what they seem to be
As she floated next to me, just out of reach
There is no knot so steadfast,
It won't go broke in the middle of monsoons
You don't show, waiting,
Watching -- her wet lips and clothes soaked through
Her blinded mind to the red sky and oxide clouds
Living just as a phasmid amidst lines and booms
Coupled up with abstinence and stolen looks
We broke our pledge against the bulkhead, and the world pitchpoled
Now Mr. Jones was a poor soul who walked into a tempest
Endlessly tying two poor fools
A victim of the whipping when headsail floats footloose
The best men can end when a storm rolls through
So we paid our keep for the sin of a reckless dream
In the seam where secrets sleep
Between me, her, the Devil and the deep blue sea
Two years spent before the mast
And no one knows the secrets that we're hiding
If word got loose, you'd face the lash
And thirteen loops would hold me fast and silent
Things are not always as they seem to be, outside us
The Devil got poor Persephone, but they can't take you from me