Well the bozos talk of dawn But it feels like Monday morn On the washing lines We still fight for what we fought But it's getting kind of short With these futures on our heels And our sails in fresh winds and new signs
As we sail away...
You may sometimes misconceive Seeing elders quietly leave And accusingly Poiting say they failed While in turn yourselves hang nailed On the landmarks of your own dreams Every tide rushes out losingly
As we sail away...
Well the morning slowly rose We were gone as first light froze All the nightmare stars While the ghosts of former graves Gentle whispers in the waves Fleeting shadows in the sails Shift their sands through old hands into ours
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