
I’M SITTING IN THE ANCHOR AND HOPE
DRINKING WHITE SHIELD WORTHINGTONS
THE BOY FRANKY’S MOORED AT THE QUAY
AND I’M STARING OVER BUGSBY’S REACH
I ALREADY KNOW SHE’S LEAVING ME
GUESS THAT’S WHY I’M GETTING DRUNK
THE RIVER LOOKS A GOLDEN PICTURE
A RED SAILED BARGE HEADS INTO THE SUN
I CAN’T CRY NO MORE
I KNOW IT’S OVER
I CAN’T CRY NO MORE
I KNOW IT’S OVER
THERE IS A ONE EYED RIVER CAT
SLEEPING ON A COILED UP ROPE
JOHNNY EDGE SITS IN THE SUNSHINE
SPINNING UP MY LAST PIECE OF DOPE
OLD NORTON FROM THE BOAT YARD
TELLS US SOME CLAPPED OUT JOKE
I’M WAITING FOR THE TIDE TO TURN
BEFORE I SAIL OFF A SINGLE BLOKE
I CAN’T CRY NO MORE
I KNOW IT’S OVER
I CAN’T CRY NO MORE
I KNOW IT’S OVER
WHEN YOU CAN’T CRY NO MORE
YOU KNOW THAT IT’S OVER
Harry Rogers, written in my car, sometime in 2010.