Fathoms down, in the farmer's fields
Where once there grew rye and barley was tilled
Now tides and deeps and the wild waves yield
A harvest of silver fishes

Chorus;The seas are rising, the water is high
The bells of beyond are ringing a warning
The south will burn, the north will be drowned
And we'll all be dead in the morning

How many tractors can plough the water
Now that the farmer and his sons and daughters
Are losing their land to the sea's onslaught
And a harvest of silver fishes

Chorus

And the farmer falls to his knees
As his boat skims the top of the trees
And the sea bed groans with the weight of the water
And the heat fans a flame in the south
It's a fire that won't be put out
And the poor world's on its way to the slaughter

How many ships does a farmer need
To drill all the water and plant all the seed?
How many sailors to tend and weed
A harvest of silver fishes?

Chorus

From waving corn to waves of blue
From the sunswept gold of the wheat fields to
The drowned black lands where crops once grew -
Now there's only the silver fishes

Chorus

And the farmer...

How much fish can purge regret
When he harrows the seas in the cold and the wet
And dead cows get caught in the farmer's nets
With the harvest of silver fishes

Chorus

And...we'll all be dead in the morning