They say there’s plenty of fish out there in the sea,
Shame I’m stuck without a fishing rod.

No, I’m no catch and that’s plain to see, lil’ old me,
Shame I’m so far from blessed by God.

I’m a rowboat among yachts and freighters.
And there’s no strange taste to which I cater.
I’m no master baiter,
or am I?

In the Atlantic they’re shooting me down,
In the Pacific they all only frown,
They say no man’s an island but what about boys?

And God I wish I didn’t feel so very alone,
But I’ve no shooting stars, no luck, a broken wishbone,
I suppose I’ll just drown out all this whiny noise.