The Psychic Sea Captain Part 3The Psychic (Zombie) Sea Captain part IIIMore Like This
Everything's Beginning To Taste Like Water
The tides still swell, like my eyes and the gashes in my thighs.
Thinking of days gone by.
The water has already forgotten me.
The crows save their attention for someone else.
I miss the sea.
If I could bring my crew back, with the blackest of magiks,
I could be a shapeless monster of the ocean
To make up for the fire inside of me.
I could eat the world.
Once you have a dream, you have everything.
Don't tell me you wouldn't do the same
If you had a hunger for the sea and delicious brains
Besides, I want to be brave again
Look out damned sea! I will turn you a clear red.
And drink everyone of you.
I will drink the ocean
Bring out your dead.
I like the fancy priests in the church and the Tavern maids
And I am hungry, it's time to come down from the caves.
There are marks to be made, and people to taste.
I crept into the sleeping shipyard, the harbour lay quiet, a kind of coma state.
I crept around the sh
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Close off the world
There's not much else you can do
The waves will crash down, but try to enjoy the Blue
Blue comes in every feeling, it comes with you.
We are the ghosts of this shipwreck.
And the tide is much too strong for now, so sleep sounds good.
Who knew it would almost kill us.
We can't call an ambulance this far down in the sea.
But I have you, and you have me.
An exorcist doesn't really sit with my beliefs.
But I will try to save us.
The Devil seems a closer friend than our families, 'cus at least he's come to terms with vengeance.
We don't need them, we barely wanted them to begin with.
I set up the family portrait, then I kicked out all their chairs.
It's so bittersweet to just not care.
But there's no way we should drown for them, we should only ever drown for us.
Heaven knows I got the guts.
But there's blue in you .
And that will do.
The only words I will ever mean Thank You.
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He likes to make it rain
He sits in his tower with his glass bottle memory potions and pains
And casts his bitter spells to make it rain all through the night
He builds shadows ready for the morning light
And collects wishing wells to catch the sunshine
His heart beats white noise, he keeps his Mum in a killing jar
He takes photos of dead stars, to remind the brightest in the sky, what they really are.
What happened to that little boy who just wanted to tell stories, fell, well, tumbled into hell
And I can't make myself feel sorry, walking away, in the rain.