Behind the Sea
A daydream spills from my corked headBreaks free of my wooden neckLeft to nod over sleeping wavesLike bobbing bait for bathing codFloating flocks of candled swansSlowly drift across wax ponds
The men all played along to marching drumsAnd boy, did they have fun behind the sea?They sang, “So our matching legs are marching clocksAnd we're all too small to talk to GodYes, we're all too smart to talk to God"
Toast the fine folks casting silver crumbsTo us from the dock.Jinxed things ringing as they leakThrough tiny cracks in the boardwalk.Scarecrow now it's time to hatchSprouting sons and ageless daughters.
Don't you know thatThose watermelon smiles just can't ripen underwater?Just can't ripen underwater
The men all played along to marching drumsAnd boy did they have fun behind the sea?They sang, “So our matching legs are marching clocksAnd we're all too small to talk to GodYeah, we're all too smart to talk to GodOh, we're all too smart to talk to God"Legs of wood waves, waves of wooden legsWaves of wooden legs