Nine Tails of Guts, Nine Tails of Blood
the whipping of flesh never stops.
So I hold my head high and hope to the stars
that the captain misses my theft of the mops.
For without the mops to swallow the blood
and to clean the decks of the red
I shall live in hope for a better life
on this voyage of the starved and the dead.
The sails are aloft and the wind is a knife
and the salt is a bitter sweet friend
So I sail on at night in the sweat of my life
and I hope that my scars will never mend.
For without the pain of life and the memory of my scars
and the everlasting sting of the Tails
I can now have the strength to get by in this life
with the Cordage, the Ratlines and the Sails.