I haven’t seen a human in days I live in a utopia, where my dolphin and I can play We’re content being alone After all a dolphin’s the smartest pet you can own We watch TV while we float in the living room When you live with a dolphin there is a lot you can do Like look into each other’s eyes and sing I can't talk I'm trying to walk my dolphin now Can't you see my dolphin and me are trying to hang out I'm not into bingo or golfing, just wanna hang with my dolphin So I'll catch you later man To test my dolphin’s intelligence I quiz him I really have a dolphin, this is not a metaphor for onanism I need a faithful pet by my side I don’t understand why people buy pets they can’t ride If they take my dolphin away I won’t be able to cope Hanging out with a dolphin everyday has made me a misanthrope But they’re getting concerned about the things we do in the dark Having a dolphin lover is a little weird, but I think my willy should be free to do it wants

Ten go into the water One comes back out Took the plunge as a man But he's a zombie now First the sailors feared him But there was no need This zombie sailor doesn't wish to feed on men He wants shark meat! Shark blood! Shark meat! It's a shark feast! Captain Quint undead rises from his watery bed to find and kill anything with shark teeth and gills Great white sharks and tiger sharks and hammerheads will all be dead Zombie Quint won't stop until he makes the big blue red Blood-thirsty Quint wears an apharious grin Because tonight he dines on salted shark fin But then something catches the zombie sailor's eye (The doll's eye) Giant megladon sixty feet long and jaws eleven feet wide He wants shark meat! Shark Blood! Shark meat! It's a shark feast! Quint swims after the king of the sea He's driven by unquenchable greed The biggest shark he's ever seen Is really a disguised submarine Now zombie Quint is finally dead The Mecha-Megladon put a tordepo through his head Captain Quint is dead He won't rise from his watery bed He was killed By a sub with shark teeth and gills Great white sharks and tiger sharks and hammerheads will all be fine The Mecha-Megladon's arsenal literally blew the zombie's mind

Straight Edge Sharks (Fish are Friends not Food) Manatee, Why you mad at me, I am asking for your help, I’m trying to set myself free but from grace I fell, I know I ate your cousin, that wasn’t supposed to happen, I’ve been trying to use my brain to bend the bars of the cage I’m trapped in Today I saw a shipwreck and gave a ride to the captain I’m a straight-edge shark, no more blood for me, I’m a straight-edge shark I only eat veggies, I’m a straight-edge shark no blood for me, I’m a straight-edge shark I don’t want to feed, on fish friends, or on scuba-diving men, I’m even done smoking sea-weed, Mr Killer whale, why you look so pale when I swim past you, I can’t change the past but what’s a shark gotta do, To please the guys whom I wronged in fits of selfish bloodlust, I can smell blood three miles away, but the stench of the past never goes away, look for sunken ships in the sea bowels today Fish are friends, They're not food, So what you gonna do when you're at the party, When the lobster drops her coat you see that body, Yum. I smell chum. Must. Not. Succumb!

There’re bubbles everywhere, they’re in my hair Bubbles dancing around my head They’re bubbles everywhere I can't help but stare At the bubbles above my bed But I don’t have gills Soon I’ll be still And the bubbles will carry this final song to no one. I never really liked standing still That’s why I tried to chisel my own gills But when I jumped into the sea The bubbles evaded me When there’s no air to breath Do the neutron bounce and enjoy life in the current! A goldfish grows to meet the size of the bowl I always felt like my bowl was trying to swallow me whole So I swapped my eyes for X's Received a toilet exit The sewer sludge tarnished my shine But battered scales are part of life in the current Funny things, Bubbles. Perfectly rounded manifestations of submerged voice. Cute little blissful bulbs devoid of intention. I once tried to have a conversation with a wandering bubble. The bubble didn’t come across as rude in the same way that a child preoccupied with little blocks doesn’t seem rude It was merely oblivious-- or totally indifferent to my existence. Now, I endeavour to interact with this bubble some more. -- I’m watching ballet dancers performing an eloquent routine on an old Greek scale. They communicate with undulating reciprocal movements, careful to maintain balance and to keep the conversation interesting. These dancers have never met but they fully understand one another. Their language is brash and prurient but they can never touch, or else the scale will tip. I try to engage with the dancers but a guard turns me into liquid, bottles me up and sends me back to the surf; An unintelligible message in a bottle, liquid divided from other liquid by a thin layer, like a bubble of concealed air floating without a care; an aesthetic jewel for a child. Bubbles are tiny, jettisoned escape-pods. Indolent units bearing messages with a return address too soaked to make out. I track this nebulous carrier further, but soon realize neither one of us is allowed to have a plan. Our journeys are dictated by the rhythms of the deep: An inexorable drum stomp, sewn to a slimy croaking stand-up bass bludgeoning. Siren songs reign prodigious, immaculate and lewd. Oh that’s right I came down here in search of food, a mermaid lover to brighten my mood, but all I found was a current in the flowing glue. Comic book voice bubbles suddenly show a sardonic glow. The lights flicker on the ride, before dimming fully, but I feel the seemingly evasive bubble cuddle against my ear before popping as if to say “only the hopeless dark brings out the lark with numbing secrets as songs--you hoped for a dove didn’t you?” (But it wouldn’t be right to divulge the actual message concealed in the bubble.) All I can say is the bubble reveals a familiar voice harmonizing with the sirens. Then I remember Jeff Buckley was lost in this same river. Many swan songs of sailors and lost-at-sea singers just come out as bubble escape pods Last lamentations, lyrical improvisations, vicious desperate squeals for eels, remarks for sharks, riffs of authentic blues lost in the big blue, all trapped in wandering bubbles, available to doomed people stuck in the current like me and like you.