The days grow wet and rather hot;
I’d rather be where I am not,
And let my brain go straight to rot
Beside the emerald sea
And yet, the dream, it flees my sight.
As vapid day turns into night,
I try to do the thing that’s right,
And keep integrity.
But many know what I have felt:
To love, and curse, the hand they’re dealt –
To think of waters, pure and fair
And wish, somehow,
They could be