A quieter boat, dog's dying daynA bone in a bowl, a watery gravennSee, I am a sailor, but I'm not so greatnI keep fishin' for roadkill, passin' out on the wavesnnA shimmering sea, stretched end to endnA flickering bulb, a shivering friendnnSee, that's Mr. Murphy, my leathery bravenHe's whimpering Taps now, for his plank-walk paradennAnd I've never been a joiner, no, I've quit every team I've been onnnNow I'm crying in my coffee, that's not sea salt in my eyesn'Cause me and Murphy, we have been through it, and I hate watching him dienn(whistling)nnSo I wait for my wisdom, like I wait for my wifenLike I wait for a story, helps me wait out the nightnnLike when I was an archer, but I couldn't shoot straightnI broke all of ma's windows, poked holes through her drapesnnAnd I laugh to myself, and I can't tell you whynThe hung-over sun sneaks back in the skynnAnd Murphy passed peaceful, he went decent and rightnAt least better than I will, when it's my turn to diennAnd I'll wear his collar on my wristnAnd I'll bury him down at the beachnnNo crying, no coffin, just a body in a holenNo praying, no singing, no saving any soulsnnThe only thing I'm saving, yeahnIs a bone inside a bowl