A thunderhead of rain crashes on the beach,
The clean high-water-line dissolving in the sand.
And underneath my troubled feet the melting sands reveal,
I can drown my sorrows here I've found a place to heal.

In the Bay, the Bay of Bengal .
In the Bay, the Bay of Bengal .

Seven fishermen, black against the surf,
Cast their flimsy nets away, stretch for all they're worth.
And haulin' back they see that they have made an average catch,
And holding up their hands to me they offer what they have.

A million years of feet have come here to be cleaned,
The filth of generations carried out to sea.
Despite the pain and sickness I force myself to feel,
Something shines inside me that brought me here to heal.