The Tattoo Man of Honolulu Town

I came off the ship with my wages spent, Found a stranger’s shop with a torn canvas tent. And there he stood with a whiskey grin Lines on his hands like a life worn thin. He said, “Son, every scar you hide burns bright.” “Sit down, and I’ll carve your storm tonight.” The needle sang like a restless sea, Its buzz still echoes inside of me. He was the Tattoo Man of Honolulu Town, Drawing ghosts on sailors who were broken down. Every anchor, every tiger, every heart run through, Held a truth that only lonesome drifters knew. He talked of travels in the Navy’s wake, Of Eastern temples where the colors ache. Said, “Tradition’s ink is a loaded gun.” “You fire it once, but the mark lives on.” He taught the craft with a sailor’s creed Bold lines, big truths, and a rebel’s speed. He said, “Make it clean, make it true, make it last.” A lighthouse burning through the mast. He was the Tattoo Man of Honolulu Town, Inking storms on drifters who were falling down. Every serpent, every flower, every banner flown, Lit a fire deep beneath the skin and bone. They say legends fade like a sailor’s scars, But some keep burning like forgotten stars. I swear at night when the trade winds cry, I hear his needle humming by. A rebel saint of ink and flame No grave could ever hold his name. He was the Tattoo Man of Honolulu Town, Inking storms on drifters who were falling down. Every serpent, every flower, every banner flown, Lit a fire deep beneath the skin and bone. He was the Tattoo Man of Honolulu Town, Storm in his chest and his colors renowned. Now the world keeps turning but the truth stays bold: Ink never dies - only stories grow old. And when the moon paints silver on the pier, You can feel his ghost draw near… Sailor Jerry’s fire in every line A legend inked in honest time.