i am the man who strikes his open
 visage over the vast sea where my 
 grandfather once taught me to fish. He
 is dead now, and far beyond that sea 
 full of fish lies a great city, where 
 the lights are all shining and it is continuously
  
 storming. In the city there are fish,
 and in the fish there are memories, and
 in between the memories drive double decker 
 busses, and i am on the top deck,
 drunk - and as the people of the bus
 stare at me, I am reminded of my
  
 grandfather, and his whiskey-and-water,
 and my hands, in the belly of the fish.