Buoys

Tattoos of ships sink down, sink down... anchors too heavy, anchors too heavy. Tattoos of ships on the arms of them, sink down, sink down, tooo heavy for them. No smiles to greet the damsons of morn, her heavy-staring-candy-face, looks doe at dawn. And f*cking leave now, and to hell, go away! The long, the wait, the swim, the boat... a salty coral chip, is sharp at the throat. And a mug facing down to the anchor that caught him, the anchor that caught him! The anchor that caught him. Weighting on him, she'll try lighten her gaze, but with a hand on the indent of her worker-woman waist, plaster casted kisses are forced on her face. And plaster casted touches all over the place. Heavy duty boars, weighing on him, weighing on him.