I hear the ringing salutations of the crickets inviting my soul    With no responsibilities my heart feels light as I walk toward the water with my evening bowl      Awaiting mosquitoes and bumble bees and centipedes and slithy toads   On the trestle above the whistle blows    Carrying its load, carrying its load      Echo from the stereo of a passing car beneath the overpass   As I amble toward the water front   Passed the fishing dock and the powder mill   Along the red clay path      Italian stone masons built the bridge and the aqueduct long ago   On the trestle above the whistle blows    Carrying its load, carrying its load      I gotta hit the water and not the ground, but    I might possibly drown      On the tenth day of March 1891 were drowned Louise King Conelly and Henry Cumming Lamar      Long before the days of cyber space, alien warfare and electric cars   And as I swim in this canal I get a nervous feeling that I too may possibly drown