A bliss fisherman. A bliss fisherman! Fishing for bliss. Bliss! What kind of fisherman fishes for bliss and not for a fish? It's not the bliss, bliss-fish he seeks. It's just bliss, bliss, bliss. Casting his line out in to the deep. Drawing it back up with a wish. It's the bliss, bliss fisherman. Fishing the deep, deep sea. But he goes out never, never outside. He fishes deep, deep within he. He sits alone gazing out or gazing inwardly. The bliss, bliss fisherman fishing his inward sea. What kind of debris does he pull out from that murky, murky sea? What does he do with it then? When it's not bliss he finds? Does he take it responsibly recycled in his mind? Or does he discard it there? And a pile on the beach pulled up from the darker places of his deep, deep, deep sea. What does he do with the debris when he does not find bliss? Maybe he recycles it there. On his boat by the sea. Maybe he builds homes with it. A seaside resort made of debris. But he keeps, keeps fishing there. Keeps fishing that sea. One day I hope he'll bring it forth. The bliss he so, so, so seeks. What will he do if he finds it there? Deep beneath the sea. Will he bring it and share it with us or will he quietly, quietly feed. Sitting at home, eating his bliss, all done with the sea. Then he may go to bed and the sea may be unseen. Will he just disappear then? Long done with the sea. Or, will he share with us the bliss, bliss he has seen.