It’s the most peculiar thing
Since I was a young man
I’ve heard the dripping of a faucet
In the back of my mind
Always it dripped
As I went about my day
In brief moments of quiet
As I drifted off to sleep
And always I strove to find it
I drove in cars
I flew in planes
I sailed in ships
I’ve been to many lands
But still I have not found the source of that infernal drip
Drip, drip, drip
It drips with the rhythm of the ocean, the circling of the moon
I imagine it has always been there
It crushed the mountains
It carved the canyons
Always it was far away
And it is far away still
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