I hear the ringing salutations of the crickets inviting my soul With no responsibilities my heart feels light as I walk toward the water with my evening bowl Awaiting mosquitoes and bumble bees and centipedes and slithy toads On the trestle above the whistle blows Carrying its load, carrying its load Echo from the stereo of a passing car beneath the overpass As I amble toward the water front Passed the fishing dock and the powder mill Along the red clay path Italian stone masons built the bridge and the aqueduct long ago On the trestle above the whistle blows Carrying its load, carrying its load I gotta hit the water and not the ground, but I might possibly drown On the tenth day of March 1891 were drowned Louise King Conelly and Henry Cumming Lamar Long before the days of cyber space, alien warfare and electric cars And as I swim in this canal I get a nervous feeling that I too may possibly drown