A blind witch sits on the porch Of a rotten shack down by the docks Hoping that he'll arrive shortly So she can tell him what he wants to hear Erskine's fish buried in the sand It's rotting head poking through Picks it up without a second thought Just like he's done for so many years A blind witch sits on the porch Of a rotten shack down by the docks The stench doesn't bother him anymore He salivates as she fiddles with the fish's guts