Ainsley

Forget these clowns, who come to woo you, so many without a plan, as loud as your woes, ships blow their hooters, songs sing of home, not what's in your gown, that makes them swoon, it goes beyond your tan, you don't need a throne, in bars where they're shoeless, you'd rather be gone, nothing’s ever by chance, your eyes are reduced, everything comes to pass, barefoot you raise a glass, shameless eyes on view, face your countenance, strange these ocean towns, these faded boozers, no sign of your crown, only faces and losers.