Divers

An association of washed up, defunct divers

Sits on docks and talks of gills and girls

They all obsess but none can swim inside her

They speak of fins and rocks and shells and pearls

Their crippling fears and painful ear conditions

Have kept them firmly planted on the shore

And they cling to every ear that pretends to listen

They've wrung the necks of rude, impatient whores

Back and forth the sailors go!

Back and forth the sailors go!

From ship to ship to get some more

I've got it in my head tonight

I'm gonna tie myself to a submarine

I'm going down, deep out of the reach of light

Where the plants don't grow

And the fish are mean like me