Grope for Trout in a Peculiar River

Lyrics

You could drop the heavy syllable upon the table
Like a copper coin, dull and quickly spent.
But we have fourpence for the Canary wine,
And a whole afternoon to invent.
The plain noun is for the butcher,
The short verb is for the street.
I can feel the nine words gathering in the jaw
Before the thought is even complete.

We grope for trout in a peculiar river,
Where the banks are steep and the current slows.
We are wading out into the private water,
Where the silken weed and the willow grows.
Why walk straight through the open doorway
When you can build a bridge just to make them shiver?
Take the long way round,
Grope for trout in a peculiar river.

The rival across the table watches the mouth,
Waiting for the metaphor to snap or break.
He used a falconry term at half-past one,
Now let us see how much time I can take.
It takes two hands to tickle the silver belly,
To coax the prize from beneath the stone.
You do not speak of the flesh in the parlour,
You speak of the landscape, and the landscape alone.

As we grope for trout in a peculiar river,
Where the banks are steep and the current slows.
We are wading out into the private water,
Where the silken weed and the willow grows.
Why walk straight through the open doorway
When you can build a bridge just to make them shiver?
Take the long way round,
Grope for trout in a peculiar river.

Nine words to avoid a single one.
That is the game, that is the entire art.
Not to hide the meaning from the alderman,
But to prove you have the sharper heart.
The syllables roll out, a measured cast of the line,
Testing the depth of the mud and the mind.

So keep your blunt and heavy declarations.
I prefer the catch when the hands are blind.
We'll just stay here by the bank.
Waiting for a bite.
While the afternoon runs out.