The type of man that lived purely for the thrill.
Although he himself was diagnosed as terminally ill.
Lab coats gave him two years left of breathin'.
In return he gave them a margin of error that left them seethin'
Upon the ocean with a wicked grin is where you could find this heathen.
If you crossed his path he'd most likely leave you bleedin'.
If it was your life that you should be a pleadin'.
Just offer to throw him a grand party and front the bill.
The celebration is purely for his crew.
His happiness doesn't come from a bottle of any hue.
What he seeks is the freedom only found in the deepest blues.
Turbulent waters provides him with more comfort than any pew.
Worries are nothing to a man with grains of sand so few.
The grin he hides behind says it all
He'll happily make it to his own grave, even if he has the crawl.