| So I said, man pull her out of the water
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| And then, lay on hands and bind back her flippers and tail
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| Until international waters
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| And there we’ll feel
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| All that’s human inside of her
|
| So she’s chilly and slick
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| On her hips where the scales meet with skin
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| With a sickening flick of her tail
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| Circling her gills filled with cold salty water
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| And she thrashes and twirls
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| Her freezing fins fluttering
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| But she’s pretty I think
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| With her hair dark as ink
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| And her belly bone-white
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| And her lips of a slight seashell pink
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| Lightly part as she’s tonguing the tub’s rusty rim
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| As the salt water it flows out again
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| Oh, farewell is to the land we know well
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| We’ll never be touching again
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| To fields where we rambled and ran
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| Farewell to our wives and children
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| Let’s stand on the deck and let’s watch
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| Them all disappearing
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| And the days all float by
|
| And the days over waves under sky
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| And the weeks slowly leak into years
|
| The last islands are all left behind
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| As we silently sail
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| Until late some dark night a wild wind starts to wail
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| And our map blows away
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| And our compasses fail
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| And it’s out on the lost boiling black water where
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| I see her float out
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| She’s so thin and so pale
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| I see her rise up
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| She’s so fast and so fair
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| My hands meet and they press to a point in the air
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| But my mouth fills with more panic than prayer
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| And my skull fills with more colour than care
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| And my heart fills with love, with too much love to bear
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| And I know that I’ll stay, that she’ll always be there
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| My hands suck in cold, sad seaweed strung through her hair |