From the Fishouse

The people on the bus mean nothing to me now
Their cares are like mine. Let them ride on

I had the wish you are supposed to wish.
I had the prayer for the blind dead god.

Cash in my hand and a fish in my mouth,
I sailed over the broken ground.

What, did you see the treasure of my chest
Was ripped and de-doublooned?

Buried to my head in the tide
I swam through the well of my throat.