Dead brine,
You know I need it
A rich wine
From a lake I brewed it
Crushed the 'rushes
And the mud
And the sick of the ducks
And the tears that I get
When the words come out
I tilled it, father
And I muddled it, mother
We're not getting any younger
No you don't
No you don't
Oh black basin
To quiet things down
It precedes conversation
On the things that matter
So I take some with me
In a flask for drinking
But the dead floats upwards
It's what my lips are kissing
I tilled it, father
And I muddled it, mother
We're not getting any younger
No you don't
No you don't
On and on
I took to swimming through
On and on (the sentry)
Pulled me back to shore
It's a deeper well
It's a sad farewell
(I paint a picture 'cos it's real)
On and on
(I choose a fiction 'cos it's fair)
On and on
Why don't you sing me something
Just a tune then we're something
Or just a word.
