For a thousand feet my line hangs straight down,
The slightest wave is followed by ten thousand ripples.
The night is quiet, the water cold, the fish not biting.
My boat filled with a vacant cargo of moonlight, I return.
For a thousand feet my line hangs straight down,
The slightest wave is followed by ten thousand ripples.
The night is quiet, the water cold, the fish not biting.
My boat filled with a vacant cargo of moonlight, I return.
Leave a comment