Courage. Through the rain, with love as our anchor. There's
just enough here to show us the courage that courses through the veins. Knock it down like a bridge. Set it up
like a prechorus. These are the tales that our grandfathers
tell to their young. Now we're lost. This ship is no such
place for heathens and harbingers. It's a shame, son. This
is the line that you crossed. It's the fine line that
separated caskets from carpenters. I wish we'd wash our
hands of this and watch you drift away. We need the last
word. Don't let him go. He seems to be getting away. Ready?
Aim. Fire. Go for the throat. Don't be surprised if he
already knows how numbered his days are and how fast we'll
pull the plug on this three-ring circus. I swear. Son, this
is business. If you betray us, all traitors are fit with
cement shoes. Tonight, when you sleep with the fishes, you
can measure the tides as your heathen embraces you. Once
we've washed out hands of this we'll watch you float away.
This is what happens when your friends turn their backs.
Now we turn the table. This is your well deserved revenge.
Get used to this. Find a stonger ship. You're the one
that's sinking. The current's too slow, by steady. Pushing
you away, disturbing its flow and burning. You'll becoming
one with the waves. This is so pure. This is banishment
forever. Have you lost your way? The red sun is over the
horizon as we drink to the future. Here's to everything
after the sun sets tonight. I'll see you, far from sober.
We'll watch you as you sink. We've drank the last of the
rye. As sure as the sun sets tonight I'll see you south of
the Cape of True Love. On the floor of the Ocean of
Friendships. I'll see you in hell if that's what you want
me to do. It's ironic sometimes how we meet our demise. As
the fishes feast out of the backs of your eyes, let this
tale be a lesson in life.
You only get back what you give, son.
Fuck you.
