Counting, counting the days and miles
Fainting, moving hypnotized
Searching for food, seeking to gain some weight
To occupy a decent place in the food-chain
Move on boy, move on, perhaps you're gonna get a lift,
The nails may hurt your fins, but it's a kind of fine
Move on boy, move on between the thighs and feel like a gift
Perhaps the smell you feel is the last before you die
Sweetwater
You're a sweetwater fish, fish in the ocean,
Could be a brave explorer, could break new grounds
Still somewhere deep, you know there is no holy grail
It's rather the search itself that counts
Move on boy, move on, perhaps you're gonna get a lift,
The nails may hurt your fins, but it's a kind of fine
Move on boy, move on between the thighs and feel like a gift
Perhaps the smell you feel is the last before you die