To the Greenlake Intermediate Adult Crew, summer '08
(who understand these things)
Words by Tom Boyd
Inspired in part by the music and cadence to Nettie Moore, by Bob Dylan

Top of the lake is where we will begin--
Something's aching here within.
I know just what is coming, and it doesn't feel so good;
I'd be better off watching from the shore, I would.

The coxswain is composed, much too much it seems--
A strategy he schemes.
Now every fiber in my body taut, awaiting the command--
In a second every bet is off, all legs fire on demand.

Now he belts "three-quarter, half, half, three-
quarter, full"--
A quick, efficient pull.
I got no reason to believe that we are something less
Than any other boat, and some we need to impress.

We're haulin' ass, giving everything we got for speed--
There ain't nothing we need.
Euphoric high--love, ambition coursing through my veins--
What sort of trick is this? I've not forgotten what remains.

Well, there's a sweetness in the air, not a ripple anywhere;
Not too bright, but warm-we're gliding seamlessly and true.
We've got their bow. How do I know?
Because my coxswain tells me so.
The crowds are laughing, cheering wildly, and some are crying too.

Not a stroke too soon we settle down and slow the pace,
Into the heart of the race.
Getting philosophical at a moment such as this:
The Lord's my coxswain also, and best not to dismiss.

Don't want to catch a crab, don't want to be the goat--
Keep your head in the boat.
How could I feel so much alive and fear I could wind up dead?
Trying to remember everything that the coach has said,

Like hands away, catch together, out of bow--
Better know it by now.
Something's working like it should, like an octet playing well--
A little payoff for the moment. My body's fixin' to rebel.

If my sense is any indication, we've come along two-thirds--
Impending sprint, in other words.
Pull to your mark, control the slide, and don't forget to breathe;
Savoring the feel of the motion underneath.

Well, there's a sweetness in the air, not a ripple anywhere;
Not too bright, but warm-we-re gliding seamlessly and true.
We've closed the gap. How do I know?
Because my coxswain tells me so.
The crowds are laughing, cheering wildly, and some are crying too.

Now the buoy says it's showtime, and our ears are pinned--
No time for a second wind.
The coxswain is intolerant of less than what we must expend.
Never mind that already I'm undone; reserves I cannot comprehend.

Lungs and legs are screaming, and my vision isn't clear--
I could really use a beer.
Why does this always happen? I got nothing at the core--
Doesn't feel any different than it ever did before.

The bow across the line, instantly this race is o'er--
We've neared the other shore.
There's a few that's hunkered over, everyone's gasping for air.
Tranquility in an odd moment-an end to this affair.

We pulled it off-are we so hot or was it just a fluke?
I just want to puke.
Think I'd like someone to shoot me to relieve me of this pain.
Give me a minute to recoup and I'd go do it all again.

Well, there's a sweetness in the air, not a ripple anywhere;
Not too bright, but warm-we're gliding seamlessly and true.
We walked on through. How do I know?
Because my coxswain tells me so.
The crowds are laughing, cheering wildly, and some are crying too.