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An association of washed up, defunct diversSits on docks and talks of gills and girlsThey all obsess but none can swim inside herThey speak of fins and rocks and shells and pearlsTheir crippling fears and painful ear conditionsHave kept them firmly planted on the shoreAnd they cling to every ear that pretends to listenThey've wrung the necks of rude, impatient whoresBack and forth the sailors go!Back and forth the sailors go!From ship to ship to get some moreI've got it in my head tonightI'm gonna tie myself to a submarineI'm going down, deep out of the reach of lightWhere the plants don't growAnd the fish are mean like me From Letras Mania