If I were to live my life

    in catfish¹ forms

    in scaffolds of skin and whiskers

    at the bottom of a pond

    and you were to come by

    one evening

    when the moon was shining

    down into my dark home

    and stand there at the edge²

    of my affection³

    and think， "It's beautiful

    here by this pond.  I wish

    somebody loved me，"

    I'd love you and be your catfish

    friend and drive such lonely

    thoughts from your mind

    and suddenly you would be

    at peace，

    and ask yourself， "I wonder

    if there are any catfish

    in this pond？  It seems like

    a perfect place for them."