so typical - a battle of wits
and i've come half prepared
i know all the ropes
but i haven't a hope
of pulling you back to me
i'm losing my grip
and sailing this ship
from barstool to borstal and back

you made me feel i was born again
it's a shame i never grew up again
i'm a boy at sea
and i'm stowaway scared
scared that my friends see
the man amongst the many

now bottle scars are all that I have
to show to the boys back home
who'd said that to plead
was a sign of the weak
and to fight was a sign
of the strong
just fair-weather words
from four-letter friends
but i found out
the four-letter way

you made me feel i was born again
it's a shame i never grew up again
i'm a boy at sea
and i'm stowaway scared
scared that my friends see
the man amongst the many

and now i've swallowed my pride
i promise you i
couldn't eat another word
i'll count to three then i sail to sea
i just got to eight
when you started to say
i'll bid you farewell
i'm going, going, gone