I’m just an old has-been decoy
No ribbons I have won.
My sides and head are full of shot
From many a blazing gun.
My home has been by the river,
Just drifting with the tide.
No roof have I had for shelter,
No one place where I could abide.
I’ve rocked to winter’s wild fury,
I’ve scorched in the heat of the sun,
I’ve drifted and drifted and drifted,
For tides never cease to run.
I was picked up by some fool collector
Who put me up here on a shelf.
But my place is out on the river,
Where I can drift all by myself.
I want to go back to the shoreline
Where flying clouds hang thick and low,
And get the touch of the rain drops
And the velvety soft touch of the snow.