I swore I saw you sitting on my bow With a foot long smile trying to convince me That it's okay to give into the waves And that I wouldn't feel a thing When the hounds of the sea start to take apart me ending my suffering If I should pour the rest of my bottle overboard will it sting the eyes? Those black eyes staring up at me from behind all those teeth? Or should I save the last sip for my frozen gut and my blue lips?