Lowlands (with new lyrics)

[Chorus] Low-lands, low-lands, Grip hard, drag pitch-black rope through hemp and brine. [Solo deep male main vocal, Verse] Our Captain's a barnacle-bloated bully man, salt-crusted collar, tar stains on the cuffs, stompin' past the bollards and the bait buckets, boots leaving slick tracks through the dockside muck, pilings leaned slick with mussels and tide scum. [Chorus] Low-lands, low-lands, Grip hard, drag pitch-black rope through hemp and brine. [Solo deep male main vocal, Verse] He keeps a thumb on the knife-handle, eyes on the door, whiskey on his breath and a grin that says he’s got one more. Talk too loud and he leans in close, says your name like a warning, one word from him and the whole deck goes quiet by morning. [Chorus] Low-lands, low-lands, Grip hard, drag pitch-black rope through hemp and brine. [Chorus] Low-lands, low-lands, Grip hard, drag pitch-black rope through hemp and brine. [Solo deep male main vocal, Verse] Now he's whiskey-wrecked and reekin' mean, [Chorus] Low-lands, low-lands, Grip hard, drag pitch-black rope through hemp and brine. [Solo deep male main vocal, Verse] dock slime on his boots and a dead man's stare in his eyes. [Chorus] Low-lands, low-lands, Grip hard, drag pitch-black rope through hemp and brine. [Bridge] You flashed that knife, kept payroll in your palm, called it “keeping order” while you buried our names. You skimmed the hold, let the storm blow hard and long, then ducked behind your captain coat, pretending it was shame. I watched you tally men like crates stacked in the rain, every lie you fed the crew came back to you in rust. Now there’s no one left to haul you, no kid to mop your stain, just the grin wiped off your face and the sea settling you in dust. [Solo deep male main vocal, Verse] At first light he's coughing by the pilings, one boot half off, Staring at the tide line where the gulls pick at the slop. No one calls him captain now, just a body in the dock, The gulls keep their distance when he starts to beg and cough. And the crew don't look back, they leave him to the ropes and the rot. [Chorus] Low-lands, low-lands, Grip hard, drag pitch-black rope through hemp and brine. [Solo deep male main vocal, Verse] Tar in the scuppers and bilge water sour on his breath, [Chorus] Low-lands, low-lands, Grip hard, drag pitch-black rope through hemp and brine. [Solo deep male main vocal, Verse] he's face-down on the planks, with a fouled net over his chest. "I earned this." [Chorus] Low-lands, low-lands, Grip hard, drag pitch-black rope through hemp and brine.