On the flow of the deepest ocean, He set his boat upon the restless water, Hoping and hungry to catch a fish. He cast his net a thousand times, But found only salt and empty rope. His eyes grew dim as the sun began to rise. "Let go, let go!" a voice cried out— Trapped in the depth of his heavy net, A tail of a thousand shifting colors. With a joyful heart, he pulled his prize.
"Let go, let go," she pleaded again, "For freedom, I will grant your every whim. I'll show you islands built of treasure, Seven rising suns and seven falling moons." They journeyed deep into the emerald sea, His heart glancing at her unearthly beauty, Her hair dancing to the rhythm of the waves. "For the first of my wishes three: I want to wrap my mouth around yours, My tongue tasting the salt of your lips."
"And for the second of my wishes three: Make melodic love beneath the moonlight, Let me feel your touch upon my soul." Reaching the secrets of the deep, His heart grew wild and astonished— A land of gold struck his greedy eyes. "For the last of my wishes three: That I outlive the ancient mountains, That my name be carried on the wind, That birds sing of my endless wealth, And kings of power bow to serve me."
She leapt from the binding of his net, Skimming the surface of the rolling ocean, Her colorful tail a flash against the blue. He reached for the waves with trembling hands, To catch the hem of her shimmering trail, But the ocean pulled back like a closing door, Leaving him king of the shifting sands. The jewels at his feet grew cold as ice, As the horizon swallowed her silver sail.
"Wonderful fish! My time has come!" he cried, "Take me home, let my legend begin! My riches are waiting to be spent!" "Foolish man," she sang from the spray, "I owe you nothing, for your wishes are granted. I gave you the crown of a thousand years, And wealth that the tides cannot wash away. So reign in your kingdom of glitter and bone, Where no one shall hear when the Great King speaks."
He clutched a handful of emerald dust, And watched as it slipped through his fingers like rain. No ship would arrive for a man who is wind, No subjects would bow to his mountain of gain. For the mermaid’s kiss was a beautiful lie— A golden cage beneath a sapphire sky.
He sits on a throne of jagged coral stone, Wrapping his arms 'round his chest of glass. A king of the salt, a lord of the tide, With a heart that beats for a thousand years, Watching the horizon for a flash of scales, And washing his gold in a river of tears.