Messes of Men

I do not exist, but faithfully insist Sailing in our separate ships And from each tiny caravelle Tiring and trying there's a necessary dying Like the horseshoe crab in its proper seasons sheds its shell Such distance from our friends Like a scratch across a lens Made everything look wrong from anywhere we stood And our paper blew away before we'd left the bay So half-blind we wrote these songs on sheets of salty wood Caught me making eyes at the other boatman's wives And heard me laughing louder at the jokes told by their daughters I'd set my course for land but you well understand It takes a steady hand to navigate adulterous waters The propeller's spinning blades held acquaintance with the waves As there's mistakes I've made no rowing could outrun The cloth blowing on the mast like to say I've got no past But I'm nonetheless the librarian and secretary's son With tarnish on my brass and mildew on my glass I'd never want someone so crass as to want someone like me. But a few leagues off the shore, I bit a flashing lure And I assure you, it was not what I expected it to be I still taste its kiss, that dull hook in my lip is a memory as useless as a rod without a reel To an anchor ever-dropped, seasick yet still docked Captain spotted napping with his first mate at the wheel Floating forgetfully along, with no need to be strong We keep our confessions long and when we pray we keep it short I drank a thimble full of fire and I'm not ever coming back Oh, my God I do not exist, we faithfully insist While watching sink the heavy ship of everything we knew If ever you come near, I'll hold up high a mirror Lord, I could never show you anything as beautiful as you