I've seen the oily-legged saddhus on the Ganges
In their tumble-down monsoon-moulding houses
Brewing chai on wooden fires like practice funeral pyres
Eyes as deep as wells
In the ringing temple bells
Casting their minds towards peace
Fishing for the ultimate release.

I've seen the crusty-fingered pêcheurs on the Thouet
In their tumble-down cabins by the pré
Brewing coffee on wooden fires like practice funeral pyres
Eyes as deep as wells
In the ringing of church bells
Casting their lines towards peace
Fishing for the ultimate release.

And if ever these old strangers chanced to meet
Somewhere in between along the street
They would nod and understand
that what they hold right in their hands
Is all that it takes to keep life sweet.