| I walk down to the sea
|
| And I saw this crazy man
|
| He was looking at me
|
| And he said «I have a plan»
|
| Yes, he said «I have a plan»
|
| He was black from the sun
|
| And his eyes were in tears
|
| And his hand was so thick
|
| From the work of the years
|
| Yes, his hand was so thick
|
| From the work of the years
|
| He said «Please come with me
|
| To my home by the sea
|
| We can smoke, drink and eat
|
| And you’ll sit at my feet
|
| And I’ll tell what I know
|
| While the sea breezes blow
|
| For I’ve tried to be free
|
| But I’ll soon have to go.»
|
| And his house was his art
|
| And, nature, his wish
|
| It was sculpted from clay
|
| In the shape of a fish
|
| It was sculpted from clay
|
| In the shape for a fish
|
| And the caves in the back
|
| Had been arched into stone
|
| And the creatures he kept
|
| Made him far from alone
|
| Yes, the creatures he kept
|
| Made him far from alone
|
| «I have only one son
|
| In Chicago for life
|
| He is separate from me
|
| And so is my wife
|
| And I live in the sun
|
| And I hate what they’ve done
|
| To my beautiful sea
|
| And what they’ll do to me»
|
| And we walked from the house
|
| For miles by the shore
|
| And we picked up the trash
|
| That they’d left by his door
|
| Yes, we picked up the trash
|
| That they’d left by his door
|
| And the oil and the sludge
|
| Got stuck to my feet
|
| And the fish that were dead
|
| Were too poisoned to eat
|
| Yes, the fish that were dead
|
| Were too poisoned to eat
|
| And the blade cut his hand
|
| And it’s stiff from the scar
|
| And the butchers, called doctors
|
| Leave you worse than you are
|
| And we’re all like the butchers
|
| We cut into life
|
| And we like to see blood
|
| On the end of our knife
|
| And someday they will come
|
| And bulldoze him down
|
| For he has not a permit
|
| From the kings of the town
|
| No, he has not a permit
|
| From the kings of the town
|
| And the doctors will come
|
| And say he’s afraid
|
| And they’ll ruin this man
|
| And destroy what he made
|
| And the pictures he kept
|
| Will be torn from his hand
|
| With the beautiful house
|
| That he built on the sand |