The Derelict, he stands alone
I've drunk too much myself, you know;
But could you see yourself, sick sir,
No hope to hold, he waits to die.
The Derelict, he stands alone
and gazes out to sea.
Poor man, had I myself a home
I'd let you live with me.
It helps to ease the pain.
And when myself is feeling low
I know I'll drink again.
I'm sure you'd ache like me.
But don't you when the thoughts occur
Of what you'd like to be?
Should God forgive his sin,
Perhaps He'll give him one more try
And let him live again.
And gazes out to sea.
Poor man, had I myself a home
I'd let you live with me.
svh
Santa Barbara Harbor, 1975
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