The water washed, the water rose; A fellow fishing sat
And watched his bobbin coolly drift, His blood was cool as that.
A while he sits, a while he harks A while past and not a fish yet.
He still sits there waiting for his fish wanting to no where they are
No love in his life to go home to no wife or kids just a rode he holds just a pipe he blows until he gets his little fish he wont go home until he finds a lover he want go to sleep until he gets his dinner he wont speak all he does is sit there waiting for his fish to come and take that bobbin coolly.
That tied goes in and the tied goes out the moon light shines in the night sky with out a doubt the wind is cool and the send soft under his feet the stars shine bright on the waters edge. But he does not move he does not sigh he sits waiting that poor old guy.
