The Captain's In The Chair

The captain's in the chair...
The wind blows down the weary streets...
A sound you'll never hear again...
Like a whores skirts swish in sequined sheets...

I'm besieged on all my sides
Dull and climbing out the bottle
And finding out the hard way
How one hand scratches the other

The muskets in the satchel
It's a tight and well right fit
If it fires there'l be death tonight
Far too legal a thing to be legit

I'm sitting in the corner
And spilt blood hangs in the air
The faces turn towards me
And the Captain's in the chair

The words they just wont come
Though I've heard them said before
It's the things you've done in darkened rooms
One day you'll answer for...

T'was a fine thing when you tarred your shirt
And imagined you'd be dry
Till you found yourself soaked to the bone
In rumbullion, dirt and lime

And on the docks, a skeleton it creaks
Hands swinging through the air
They reach out, grasping at the life
They held once in despair

And in the tavern turns an ashen face
And asks you what you've done
You spin at once in frank suprise
And fire your pistol home

I'm sitting in the corner
And spilt blood hangs in the air
The faces turn towards me
And the Captain's in the chair

Falling
Stumbling
Crawling
Through the cobble streets of yore
The dry blood caked upon your cheek
It mixes with the dawn
And as you pull yourself up from your knees
And your lips from off the whore
And squint from shards of lantern light
And memories, slights and more
The mug is almost empty
And it clanks upon the floor
And you find yourself dragged to your feet
And shoved into the hold

I'm sitting in the corner
And spilt blood hangs in the air
The faces turn towards me
And the Captain's in the chair