South of the river's mouth
Migration slopes slowly towards mainland
There the salt air
Fills the gills of the dead bait in hand

The deep is in riot, the coastline is quiet
Asleep and divided in bands
While beer halls all revel, drunk and disheveled
Helplessly wading the diver is down

And they're chumming the ocean
The signal is sent
Received and responded to
The water is red, red, red, red

We're downed, downed as the hand of God
Chokes the driftwood with dead weight and brine
And spawning the detailed decline
Via dorsal cuts, hook, sink and line

The anchors have settled, the tanks are full level
The flag has been raised half-mast on the bow
And harpoons are loaded, the cage has been lowered
The mask is on, the diver is down now

And they're chumming the ocean
The signal is sent
I think he's in trouble
The water is red, red, red, red