| Sand and wind burns the back of my throat
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| I fell while standing on my rowboat
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| Salt water tightens on my skin coat
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| I drowned — my head smacked to the rowboat
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| I floated through the plains of sea — an old pork chop greeted me
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| It was thankful for the company of a dead man who once might have ate him
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| I miss my rowboat — left it on the shore 10 feet above me
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| I never noticed the chipped paint on the bottom
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| And now I get to see things from a different view
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| The sea did vandalize with natural shades of green
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| Under what circumstance would I ever have had the opportunity to find out?
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| True pond scum always rises to the top of the water
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| I, on the other hand, am false pond scum and remain below
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| I swim the seven liquid gallows
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| I’m furniture for budding tadpoles
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| Sock-sogged and waterlogged I slow-bloat
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| One with the bog — fate sailed my rowboat
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| I’d kiss you but my lips are feed for tuna getting back at me
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| I am the Ronald-Of-the-Sea in a swimsuit that no longer fits me
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| I’d love you but my brain is cheese — my body’s 59 degrees
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| And if I could I’d surely sneeze 'cause my nose is filled with red snapper
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| I’d hold you but my arms are weak — this whole thing won’t help my physique
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| And to my neighbors I’m a freak — they’re a fish hook, an old shoe and… (???)
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| I’d sing to you but I can’t make sounds — there are no more bubbles in my mouth
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| And when I said I would head South to retire I meant Florida
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| I’m running out of words to sing — this fading out is a good thing
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| La da di da da da da da… |