It's high tide again,
Willy.
Snow's been
Melting off the mountains
For days
The covers of the boneless
Have gone to the sand, Willy
The bones of the coverless
Still there
In the wild rock.
It's low tide again, Willy
Has been for days
Pastor Don
Is riding
On his way
To the
Graveyard shore.
Pastor Don just rode
By again,
Willy.
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