People Often Tell Me I'm Good at What I Do

Every old salt knows a song to sing, when things go wrong, and things go wrong, 
  that can resurrect men with mighty hymns, cannot raise the diving bell. 

  With their hands cut open and the line unweavin', you swell like the ribcage of lions breathin', 
  They pulled 'til you swore that the rope was bleeding, their core poured from the palms of gods and heathens 
  When their bell dipped down in the Stygian deep, and they know many omens are spoken evil, 
  but those poor souls that know that awful feeling, they're dancing like their lantern candles. 

  Every old salt knows a song to sing, when things go wrong, and things go wrong, 
  that can resurrect men with mighty hymns, cannot raise the diving bell. 
  Cannot raise the diving bell 

  Well the sanguine sun set on the evening, in the sea like glass that was far too peaceful, 
  though the line ran tight to the bell beneath it, and heaven is where the devil always hides his secrets 

  Let me teach you songs that will fair you well, let me draw you maps through the gates of Hell, 
  who would kill those men on one can tell, the secrets of the diving bell, 
  the secrets of the diving bell 

  Every old salt knows a song to sing, when things go wrong, and things go wrong, 
  that can resurrect men with mighty hymns, cannot raise the diving bell. 

  Every old salt knows a song to sing, when winds are gone, and winds are gone, 
  you can fill flat sails with the salty strings, cannot raise the diving bell. 
  Cannot raise the diving bell