Vermin and Saints

Rain, Rain, Rain, walking on a dream plays over damp clothes, traveling to the same old spot, fishing the same old waters, wet socks and smokes, dreams of Africa, those red roads and mud huts, oh those vibrant colors, oh those vibrant souls.  "I can't do well when I think your gonna leave me.  Shouldn't you be leaving now?"  Modern iPods and fishing gear, nachos for lunch, the salmon are nowhere, the money is always little, why oh why? A nightmare at best. Vermin and Saints. The rain continues.  Drug addict searches for his knife, his new pocket knife, the one his mother bought him.  He is forty and can't read. Vermin and Saints.  Prayers to Jesus, a knock on wood, just another good luck charm, how about the number thirteen or a horse shoe?  What's the difference?  Nothing.  Just vanity.  Putting your hopes in trinkets at best.  Yelling, dissent among the men and a drunken crying moment.  Oh boy, you think your so tough?  Bullies are sad and weak, they will never rise; a coward at best.  Vermin and Saints.  Forty-eight hours of work, breathing each others stink, riding the calm waves of the South East, black bears and eagles, no more red man, gotta find the run, tender men and their honky-tonk contraptions, multi-million dollar rust buckets, harvesting the sea for profit.  Ripped up beer cans, watch 'em sink.  How many of us burn our planet?  Growing into bar stools, growing cracks upon the face, toothless women bat their eyes. Vermin and Saints - both go to the well, all smoke and mirrors, mud-soaked streets, laundry in a trash bag, rubber boots all day, luke-warm coffee, wet rain gear, hot tempers.  "You don't put fucking Joy soap on the deck with the fish!" Where is the PC now?  No respect.  Vermin and Saints.  Dissent among the men.  Sun will rise someday.  Rain, rain, rain.  Four AM comes early boys.  A pink sky morning, heavy head, muscles ache, addiction calls again, Sisyphus at best, ragged boots, father's words cripple.  The struggle is in the art - it turns to cold oatmeal when the belly is full.  Boys fight the tears, tears for true manhood, the everyday South East Alaska.  Have another cigarette.