The terminal calling:
(Or Hicky as the hat boys used to call him)
Has done got a hole in his head;
Put there by a Jap maybe,
Or perhaps a buddy.
Anyhow, he's just lyin' there
With his brains on them rocks
And his belly open.
No petty frat brat was he. No sir,
He was on the Dance Committee.
(What's the catch today, he asks and turns towards the sea.)
They used to say Ol' Hicky
Came from some shithook town in Nebraska,
But when it's raining hell out of them damn hills,
They don't generally ask ya.
(Christ man, it's hot.)
They used to say when Ol’ Hicky was a kid,
He'd say to himself, Man, am I going
To have a time of it. I've got brains.
(On the rocks, please, I'm tense.)
Then them goofs went and shot off the lid.
(Christ man, I'm soaked.)
(Peter sorts out the good and bad in the net. By God, he thinks, if that fanatic comes by again, I'll tell him a thing or two.)
They say he used to think a lot, that boy.
Not like the other frat brats, not a sot.
Was going to be the conscience of the world, that lad.
Takes long walks and talks things over with his dad.
(And won't his mom bawl when she gets the news.)
Had a girl too, that boy. Yes sir,
Hicky was well-rounded. So's she.
Jesus, what a body. Here's her picture
From his wallet. Name's Midge.
(Oh hell, goof, what's his old lady
Going to do with it?)
That bastard just lyin' there
With his brains on them rocks And his belly open, hell,
He weren't nothing. He weren't no bridge.
Hell, he was just the rope walker that fell.
(But that fanatic does come by again, and so Peter dies in Rome instead of in the net with the fish.)