Two Years Before The Mast Lyrics

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 13 loops would hold you fast and silent.

Things are not always as they seem to be,
outside us,
The devil got poor Persephone,
but they can't take,
they can't take you from me.
They can't take you from me.
They can't take you from me.
They can't take you from me.
Can't take you from me.

Mr. Jones done made a mistake, it's all business.
Worst thing than the watery grave, before rictus(?).
I found about a barrel of grain in the hold list-less.
A hollow half hat at a (???), frayed princess.
I guess I goin' soft in my age, they call it instinct.
The rebels get the devil to pay, the cat hissing.
Gonna start I know I oughtta send her to the brig.
Strongest not scared still water and calm winds.
And all things aren't what they seem to be in,
small wall separating Earth from Eden.
One rib did give Eve her meaning,
and one snip might could keep her secret.
With the short hair there and change of clothing,
Fit her right in and work soaking oak em(???).
Four fortnights shut alone with the opium,
It might slip by buffer and bosun.

Two years spent before the mast,
and no-one knows the secrets that we're hiding.
If word got loose you'd face the last,
and 13 loops would hold you fast and silent.

Things are not always as they seem to be,
outside us,
The devil got poor Persephone,
but they can't take,
they can't take you from me.

Snip of the shears, a fist of her hair, 'll take to the air - handsomely.
Until it, floated down among the clouds reflected on the glassy sea.
And when the winds disappeared, crew stripped almost bare, bathed in the transfixed deep.
And all things aren't 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 hope don't choke.
Waiting watching her wet lips and clothes soak through,
blinded and minded red sky and oxide clouds,
living just as a fezz mittens(???) the lines and booms,
coupled up with abstainments of stolen looks,
broke a pledge against the baulkhead world pitch pool,
'til you shake the soft hands in the soapstone pool,
Mr. Jones is a poor soul who walked into a tempest,
endless time to pull through.
Victim of whipping and headsail thoughts footloose,
the best men can end when the storm blows 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 last,
and 13 loops would hold me fast and silent.

Things are not always as they seem to be,
outside us,
Devil got poor Persephone,
but they can't take,
they can't take you from me.
Can't take you from me.
Can't take you from me.