blows the margins through
which we hung

trades the waters the women
the whores

breaks the tunnels through which
our gang rightly tore

alive and satisfied with
the days left over

the nights blow smooth
but a little cold

the gold weren't worth
pennies

but was real nice to hold

the chests all collapsed
unbroken in the stores

sinks the sun
comes the night
we're through
tomorrow

this is you and me and the
pirates and merchant men.