Murphy's Song

I cry at her bowl, dog's dying day A bone in her bowl, a watery grave See, I am a sailor, but I'm not so great I keep fishin' for roadkill, passin' out on the waves Shimmering sea, stretched end to end Shivering bowl, a flickering friend See, that's Mr. Murphy, my leathery brave He's whimpering "Taps" now, for his plank-walk grade I've never been a joiner, no, I've quit every team I've been on Now I'm crying in my coffee, that's not sea salt in my eyes Cause me and Murphy, we have been through it, and I hate watching him die (Whistling) So I wait for my wisdom, like I wait for my wife Like I wait for a story, helps me wait out the night Like when I was an archer, but I couldn't shoot straight I broke all of ma's windows, I poked holes through her drapes And I laugh to myself, but I can't tell you why The hung-over sun, sneaks back in the sky But Murphy went peaceful, he went decent and right At least better than I will, when it's my turn to die And I wear his collar on my wrist And I bury him down at the beach No crying, no coffin, just a body and a hole No praying, no singing, no saving any souls The only thing I'm saving, yeah Is a bone inside a bowl