Homesick
You cannot make a seaman of a Texan
who was born on the rangy Texas plains,
he was meant to ride a horse and be a cowhand
trying to rope a seagull gives me pains.
I want out of here, the place`s disgusting
I am longing home with all my bleeding heart,
the sea the foam the wind is gusting
up to fifty miles and hour for a start.
I was meant to ride the horses in a paddock
chasing calves around the wide and lonely fields,
not to fool with herring, cod and haddock
and other things the sea so kindly yields.
I long for tumbleweeds for horses and for cow smell
to where the deer and coyotes still are running free,
and here I am drilling for an oil well
in the damned and salthy Northern Sea.