The fishing boat dropped anchor into the clouds, balanced precariously on a skyscraper’s edge and rumbling a fog horn roar for help, he sang of such sweet false promises:
Mighty Seas, wash away my sins! Oh sea, come visit me at night! (a giant had drank it) and I will never live for want of salt again, nor mock the fish I hunted!
(and the fearsome giant man had salt sores upon his throat.
He purged water from rivers and great lakes to quench his thirst until the world became a desert – the little boat now a keepsake upon the giant’s belt – the red dusty air his ocean).