I'm often asked about true love.
Never really answered.
And it's not because I'm running scared,
it's because I'm just a bastard.
You see, the thing with me and love,
it's never what it seems.
For some, it's flowers, hearts and stuff
and for others more obscene.
See, I like it dirty, nasty, crude.
I like feeling used and shattered,
and sometimes when the moon is full
I like my bollocks battered.
But sometimes I feel more inclined
to hold a hand or to a seafront walk,
a gentle kiss in crimson violet hue.
I think one day my life will show
that love was not for fools.
It takes some guts to hold a heart
while cleaning jizz and drool.
It takes more guts to give your soul
to another without care
And to let them lead you down a path
that you'd never thought you'd dare.
Stride and let your soul soar free,
entwine it with another.
Strike out and let your loins explode,
just make sure he's not your brother.
For sex is sex,
and love is love.
And sometimes both combine.
And when they do,
fuck me, it's cool.
Ask Steak Knife.
No, I lie.
And then to me till now, my loves,
my story is untold.
I play my cards close to my chest
because I'm very old.
But if I was to say three things
a map could soon be drawn.
My story starts the 18th year
after the day I'm born.
A kind young man
who turned my head
and made me weak at knee.
A gentle soul
who stole my heart
and in turn set me free.
A ring I had,
my mother's stone.
To him one day I gave
but as I offered on that day,
my love went to his grave.
And so to sea I went to be
a man of rage and hate;
and finding there a kindred spirit
I became his best, first mate.
With Ed the love was different,
our hearts were not entwined.
I loved him more than he loved me,
but trust me, that was fine.
See, I couldn't love so hard again,
I didn't have it in me.
But watching Ed fall deep in love with Stede
nearly killed me.
Stede was different.
a fop, a cad, a rat.
I couldn't understand it:
the man's a total twat.
But, love they did,
and this I know,
for now I watch them daily.
From the hill below the house they share,
I watch them act out. Gayly.
They laugh, they row, they spit and spat,
they love, they cry, they simper.
And often in the still of night
I hear that posh twat whimper.
But I could leave.
That much is true.
The choice to stay is mine.
For I want to watch
this tale unfold.
To see their hearts entwine.
Once sure, I'll leave
and find the boy who left me long ago.
The boy whose heart would leave its mark
of pain that wouldn't go.
And I will hold him by the ass.
Breathe in his cock and hole
and know that I have found my place
forever in his soul.
Another third thing that I speak,
within this long sad verse,
my journey has been difficult
for many to observe.
But please know this,
for this I know,
from my bellend to my balls.
It is better to have loved and lost
than to have never loved at all.
