Freshwater Salt

The yellow hills, channel rain, Bound for the sea, coming back again. Landscapes kiss on a rushing sound, There's a hundred men trying to take us down. Music on the left hand, money on the right, I'm a battlefield in the morning light, Where falls the sun on the chestnut ground, I lost my soul in the heavy crowd. There's a hundred men in a hundred rooms, In a hundred towns trying to take us down. Following the low sun's distant roar, Summer will be mine forever more, Dark-bellied trout will you take me where, I am bound by a single hair. Seven thousand weary hearts adrift, But the boat's got a hole and the sail's ripped. At night, we hear, the whale sound, There's a hundred men trying to take him down. Fresh water weakens in the tide, My love is salt and I cannot dive. My love is salt and I cannot dive, And I'm bound to the rhythm of a losing time. Freshwater salt.