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Pirate Jenny
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Pirate Jenny
Scabby's ship was broken.
They had to dock to steal some parts
from unsuspecting clippers in the dark.
Scabby's soul was open,
he'd left the comfort of his ship
for the first time in three long years for a walk.
As his boots sunk in the sand,
this sinking feeling in his heart
confirmed he hated land.
Then limping down the beach for miles,
Scabby came across a girl with emerald eyes,
starin' off to sea.
He said to her, 'You better run.
There's pirates all around.
They'll rob you and they'll rape you just for fun.'
When she didn't move,
Scabby said, 'What's wrong with you,
that you don't run from a monster such as me?'
And she said, 'Your scars can't hide
the softness in your eyes,
and the caring soul, that's really you inside.'
When Scabby heard this, he couldn't stop the tears.
To think that he had been alone,
three long and lonely years.
She said, 'Won't you come inside?
I'll make some soup and apple pie,
and share my bed. And let me dry your tears.'
Those nights they spent were many,
fueled by Scabby's love for Jenny.
The urge to kill, replaced by gentle hands.
The pain in Scabby would subside,
when he stared into her emerald eyes,
and told her tales of strange and distant lands.
By day he'd gathered food,
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and fixed up Jenny's leaky roof,
and brought her gifts that always made her smile.
And she sang, 'Oh Scabby I love you dearly,
I could not live without you near me,
I could not live,
not even for a while.'
But Scabby's ship was fixed now,
and the maiden head on the bow
was callin' back the pirates to their ship.
So Scabby pulled his steely knives,
and carved out Jenny's emerald eyes,
and put them in his pocket
for the trip
And he said, 'It's a pirate's life for me,
life for me.
These land-locked laddies are much too dry,
and the ones I meet, there appears to be,
a friendly guise behind their eyes.
They stare at me, with repulsity.
And I freeze inside, 'cause I know they're right.
I've got disease, you can't see.
And it's gone only when the starboard sun is rising easterly.
It sets me free.
The whispers of the waves are like a symphony.
They talk to me.
I can only stay still when the cradle's rockin' me to sleep.
It lets me dream.
And it's gone only when the captain's talkin' robbery,
of peasantry.
And the smelt is dry, so the swabs they cry for mutiny,
Jenny can't you see?
One day you may see the pirate sun.'
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