[Verse 1] There's a pond by the road that I take into town, brown as a penny, no deeper than knee. A child had gone down where the reeds grew over — one small hand open, still reaching for me. [Chorus] But I had my good coat and a long way to go, and the wet would have ruined the leather, you know. So I counted my reasons and found them all sound, and I kept to the path and I kept my shoes dry. [Verse 2] There were others behind me — surely one would go in, a stronger, a braver, a kinder than me. And a man has his own, has a wife and a hearth, you can't carry the world on a clerk's salary. [Chorus] But I had my good coat and a long way to go, and the wet would have ruined the leather, you know. So I counted my reasons and found them all sound, and I kept to the path and I kept my shoes dry. [Verse 3] And the ponds, they are everywhere — half the earth drowning, in countries whose names I could not tell you now. And nobody weeps for the ones past the water, so why should the near one be different somehow? [Bridge - female voice, half-spoken, accusing] You walked? There was a hand in the water, and you walked. And your coat — look — your coat hasn't gone dark at the hem. I'd have gone in coat and all, let it ruin, let it drown, I'd have carried her up through the reeds and the cold — [male, quiet] And the ones past the sea? [female, quieter, faltering] ... Don't ask me ... I know. [Chorus B - female] But I've a girl of my own and the school bell at eight, and a mother feeds hers first — would you have my child wait? I can't grieve the whole sea — I'd have nothing left over — so I hold what is mine, and I keep her shoes dry. [Verse 4 - male] So I came to my door and I hung up my coat, and the kettle, the lamp, and the evening were mine. But there's blood on the hem that won't ever scrub white, though I swear to you — swear it — she was no kin of mine. [Outro] And I kept my shoes dry. We keep our shoes dry. (We keep our shoes dry.) (We keep our shoes dry.)
