The Lockman - Marc Almond

The bargemen see

Me growing old

I see the bargemen

Aging too

We play the game

Of Tom Fools

Where the one

Who still is oldest

In my work

Even in summer

He must travel

WIth eyes clossed

It’s not nothing

Being a lockman

The barge men know

My bloated face

They joke with me That’s there mistake

Half sorcerer

Half drunkard

I cast a spell

On all that sings

In my work

In autumn

We gather fruit

And the drowned

It’s not nothing

Being a lockman

In his basket

A baby squirms

To watch the fly

On his nose

Mama moans

And time frets

Cabbage sweats

And fires groan

In my work

In winter

We think of the father

Who drowned himself

It’s not nothing

Being a lockman

Towards the spring

The barge women

Feign and gloat

From their boat

I’d like their games

But for that war

That he leaves me Somewhat damaged

In my work

In the spring

One takes the time

To drown self