Songwriters Write Songs, But They Really Belong

Mother, Mother Ocean, I Have Heard You Call. Wanted To Sail Upon Your Waters, Since I Was Three Feet Tall. You've Seen It All, You've Seen It All. Watched The Men Who Rode You, Switch From Sails To Steam. In Your Belly, You Hold The Treasure That Few Have Ever Seen, Most Of Them Dreams, Most Of Them Dreams.

We're Just Recycled History Machines, Cavemen In Faded Blue Jeans.

Later Down The Road Of Life, I Made The Discovery That Salt Water Was Also Good For The Mental Abrasions One Inevitably Acquires On Land.

The Right Combination Of Guilt And Machismo Has Sent Many A Fool Out Into The Jungle When He Should Have Stayed Home.

It's Not The Tales Of Stephen King That I've Read, I Need Protection From The Things In My Head . . .