The first ink i saw was on her neck, an anchor that said no regrets,
her grandaddy died in the second world war,when a U-boat put him on the ocean floor,
i guess every mark upon her skin is a way to take her back again,
to a special place, within her mind, a catalogue where she can always find,
Don't be afraid to push down hard,
she's been down this lonely road so many times,
she just don't know where it starts,
paint a picture with this ink,
drag the needle cross her skin, so she can
finally have a place to stop and think.
all these old stories seem new....
on that dark haired girls' tattoos.
She rolled up her sleeve and showed an ace of spades
said she got it after winning in a card game.
it was the first time she ever got a little bit of cash,
bought her very first car and crashed.
Yeah she's bled for every decision she's made,
that's why her knuckles read "stay away"
so every lie she told, ever curse she threw,
ever man she loved then broke in two,
She's got a lightnin' bolt for how fast time fades,
a compass to guide her wanderin' ways,
six little keys on a ring built for more she won't tell me what those are for.
yeah our mind's a canvas too easy to forget,
but her flesh is papyrus to a prophet.
they're her secret runes, her holy glyphs,
a portal through some ancient rift,
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