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lyrics

My father was a fisherman.
He'd step off of the edge of the land
to move upon the water
and sink his eyes and cast his net and gaze into the churning depths
and with the cunning art of mortals draw from raging deep
the roaming tribes of the sea

And ever would he labour there but wayward are the ranging bands
and ailing is the light
and though swift and sure the fisher's hand fading is the sight of men
and endless are the lives that move there in the raging deep
the roaming tribes of the sea

Ruling
down where the rivers meet
and who could name them certainty?
Creatures vicious and fleeting fishes;
baffling visions in the sea

My father was a fisherman
He stepped off of the edge of the land
to move upon the water
and sink his eyes and cast his net and gaze into the churning depths
and with the fisher's art of mortals said:
"Rise my child and follow me! A fisherman I'll make of thee!"
But wayward are the lives that move there in the deep
and ailing is the light
and no lesser tribes than blessed land feeds briny sea.

credits

from Through the Darkness and the Cold, released November 24, 2016

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Elliot Thomas Edmonton, Alberta

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