I'm down here in Freshwater Cove. It's been simulated by my imagination. All throughout there's small pastel blue lilac groves. This place is my pure bliss station.
Lately the freshwater supply has been running low, The aroma of death fills the crisp air, My fragile lilacs refuse to grow. The freshwater gives me a crying glare.
My Cove has gotten infested by rats, The silky sand is losing it's white tint, There's shady men around, carrying metal bats, The freshwater's losing it's renouwned light blue glint.
My Freshwater Cove needs saving, My only place of bliss is dying, The dead grass needs a shaving, My Cove is leaving me crying.