by: The Tragically Hip
I had this dream where I relished
The fray and the screaming that filled my head all day
It was as though I'd been spit here, settled in, into the pocket,
Of a lighthouse on some rocky socket,
Off the coast of France, Dear.
One afternoon, four thousand men died in the water here,
Five hundred more were thrashing madly as parasites might in your blood.
Now I was in lifeboat designed for ten, and ten and only,
Anything that systematic would get you hated.
It's not a deal, nor a test, nor a love of something fated.
The selection was quick, the crew was picked in order,
And those left in the water were kicked off our pant leg,
And we headed for home.
Then the dream ends when the phone rings,
You're doing alright, he said it's out there,
Most days and nights, when only a fool would complain.
Anyway "Susan" if you like our conversations as faint a sound in my memory,
As those fingernails scratching on my hull.
Never thought this song would mirror aspects of my life, but that's what you get sometimes.