Forget about what you've heard, boy, all of it.
Throw it in the fire there, it's nothing.
Let me say something. There is nothing worse
than stewing in the guts of a ship, hounded
by memories of a face, by dreams of eyes
you doubt still take the trouble to weep for you.
Forget about war. There is little virtue in it.
You'll piss yourself and look for a hole to hide in.
A sword is heavy; blood is sticky. It stinks.
The truth is I was lost most of the time,
knocked here and there like a doll, sliding by Death
like a slug he would rather not soil his hands with.
Learn a trade, and find yourself a girl
who'll look beyond what's common in you, who'll see
what may be worth weaving something pretty for.
Throw it in the fire there, it's nothing.
Let me say something. There is nothing worse
than stewing in the guts of a ship, hounded
by memories of a face, by dreams of eyes
you doubt still take the trouble to weep for you.
Forget about war. There is little virtue in it.
You'll piss yourself and look for a hole to hide in.
A sword is heavy; blood is sticky. It stinks.
The truth is I was lost most of the time,
knocked here and there like a doll, sliding by Death
like a slug he would rather not soil his hands with.
Learn a trade, and find yourself a girl
who'll look beyond what's common in you, who'll see
what may be worth weaving something pretty for.
