Marc Almond The Lockman
The bargemen see Me growing old I see the bargemen Aging too We play the game Of Tom Fools Where the one Who still is oldest In my work Even in summer He must travel WIth eyes clossed It's not nothing Being a lockman The barge men know My bloated face They joke with me That's there mistake Half sorcerer Half drunkard I cast a spell On all that sings In my work In autumn We gather fruit And the drowned It's not nothing Being a lockman In his basket A baby squirms To watch the fly On his nose Mama moans And time frets Cabbage sweats And fires groan In my work In winter We think of the father Who drowned himself It's not nothing Being a lockman Towards the spring The barge women Feign and gloat From their boat I'd like their games But for that war That he leaves me Somewhat damaged In my work In the spring One takes the time To drown self
