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(Brooker) |
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The search is over, the battle done |
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The fish is beaten, the angler's won |
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But simple stories make longer tales |
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No consolation if he had failed |
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Through wind and desert, Blackberry Hole |
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Coyote and rattler had made him old |
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No it ain't easy, it's on the borderline |
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Between health and madness, the way he bides his time |
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Fin to fin in every log-jam |
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This is where they lie |
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The Deschutes is hot, the bottom's black |
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They're eye-to-eye |
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My oh my what fun to be on your own |
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Down foaming rapids into the deep black hole |
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Through thorns and rockslides for to reach his goal |
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And golden chances, he let them slip away |
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Or was he waiting for the Judgement Day? |
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They really nailed 'em on the deadline |
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This is where they lie |
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Where the water's fast, the current's strong, their eye-to-eye |
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My oh my what fun to be on your own |
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But on the thirteenth morning when the sun was high |
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he tricked that steelhead and saw the line go tight |
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Two spirits fighting, two creatures bold |
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Bad luck and trouble had finally lost their hold |
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Fin to fin in every log-jam |
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This is where they lie |
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The Deschutes is hot, the bottom's black |
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They're eye-to-eye |
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I see why he spend his time on his own |
