I Suspect The Waterboys Have Heard Of Bob Dylan

I wish I was a fisherman
Tumblin’ on the seas
Far away from dry land
And its bitter memories
Castin’ out my sweet line
With abandonment and love
No ceiling bearin’ down on me
Save the starry sky above

With light in my head
With you in my arms…

I wish I was the brakeman
On a hurtlin’ fevered train
Crashin’ headlong into the heartland
Like a cannon in the rain
With the feelin’ of the sleepers
And the burnin of the coal
Countin the towns flashin’ by
And a night that’s full of soul

With light in my head
With you in my arms…

And I know I will be loosened
From the bonds that hold me fast
And the chains all around me
Will fall away at last
And on that grand and fateful day
I will take thee in my hand
I will ride on a train
I will be the fisherman

With light in my head
You in my arms…

The Fish (Still) Don’t Come

It no coom.

Life passes by on the way to somewheres else now, but it no coom.

The fish no coom anymore. They’d coom and leap into the seine they would, without a care for themselves, and us without a care for them. All gone now.

We’d dig in the muck for the shells of St. James, and the excursionists would ooh and ahh over the beastly things. All gone now, and the all the brahmins don’t venture here no more. We’d eat kale from the back acre and spend the money. But the money don’t coom now.

She says I am a good man as I don’ t strike her, and I don’t drink my wages. But there are no wages and the fish don’t coom and I’m not any sort of man at all if I don’t drink nothing ’cause I have nothing.

The ocean took my digit in the bight of the rope in a gale once. It was nothing, really. Just a pinch.

After a while the pinches add up, don’t they, though?

The clock ticks and I wait. The fish don’t coom, but she will when her day is done.

(First offered in 2008)

Month: May 2010

Find Stuff:

Archives