I've got six things on my mind you're no longer one of them.

 

I've got six things on my mind

you're no longer one of them.

 

There’s a corner by the edge of the pool,

cracked tiles; something there green grows

the rushes, oh. You might notice, maybe not,

because some come here just dive in,

strong strokes and swim, hold breath and grin,

touch bottom then gulp in a lungful or two.

Like a story you once read, through the tunnel,

holding breath, touching death, nothing left,

then – with joyous stroke – like corked bottle

full throttle, an explosion into a greeting day.

Well, I’ve heard that’s what some say,

but there’s a corner by the edge of the pool,

cracked tiles; something there speaks low

in whispers, oh; a stagnant flush of fools.