| It was in the tattoo parlour
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| Where he engraved their names
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| Words a winding round his shoulders
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| Reminders now he’s older
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| In the magic of the parlour
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| Down his arm unwinds a story
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| Love and hate and Mum and Dad
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| In flames of hope and glory
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| A mermaid and a schooner
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| Tells us he was once at sea
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| A heart pierced by an arrow
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| Tells us once more in love was he
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| And a dragon spitting fire
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| He’s forgotten what that’s for
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| But tattooed on his mind
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| Is a reminder of the war
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| He gave up tattooing lovers
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| Where no room for any others
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| A line through every sweetheart
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| With another etched below
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| In every port a stormy girl
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| They loved him and they loved him so
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| Each one for all to see adorned
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| With Cupids and with bows
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| A mermaid and a schooner
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| Tells us he was once at sea
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| A heart pierced by an arrow
 | 
| Tells us once more in love was he
 | 
| And a dragon spitting fire
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| He’s forgotten what that’s for
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| But tattooed on his mind is a reminder of war
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| In the magic of the parlour
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| Swapping laughter swapping stories
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| Where the words are often hard
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| And the air is always blue
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| He remembers all his mates from then
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| He lost a couple maybe ten
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| Their headstone on his forearm as a crucifix tattoo
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| Now he leans upon the bar
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| With a mysterious air
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| And the ladies gather round
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| To view his decorated arms
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| He’ll tell them of each scroll and line
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| And other scars not so fine
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| And they always want to see
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| A little more of Old Jacks Charms
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| A mermaid and a schooner … |