The river that flows

Fisherman sitting looking in a stream
Thinking of all the fish he's seen
Some they come and some they go
Down by the banks of the river that flows

Some he's caught and some let go
And it all depends on how far he throws
Some swim fast and some swim slow
When his line he casts he soon lets trow
Down by the banks of the river that flows

Orange glint of a dawning sun
Just a hint of the knowledge it knows
In the tree sits a big black crow
Sitting in the shadow of a big black gun

Some birds come and some they go
Down by the banks of the river that flows

Pigeons flutter into the sky
Ducks stay hidden down below
Fisherman thinks how the good men die
Some they come and some they go
Down by the banks of the river that flows