|
|
I may not be Nostradamus but there’s one thing I can promise
There’s no way this quiet calm is gonna turn into a storm
It’s a cold sea of stagnation and this time I won’t be patient
No, I’m starting my migration while the weather is yet warm
I will flee using oars in a contrary wind
and when I reach the distant shore, I won’t be sorry that I did
There’s a place I can go that it just won’t matter where I’ve been
Watch these oars make great big ripples in that water
I’ll paddle to the point of violence to explore elusive islands
In this soup there is a silence, almost more than I can stand
So I have to keep on rowing, though I don’t know where I’m going
I can taste that stale breeze blowing but my eyes can see no land
I will flee using oars in a contrary wind
and when I reach the distant shore, I won’t be sorry that I did
I must not drift along with the flow, I can’t give in
Nor can I yield to the temptation of safe harbor
Oh my arms they are exhausted, but I’ve left the past behind
Hey no matter what I’ve lost, at least I’ll have this chance to see what I can find
I may not be Nostradamus but I'm not a doubting Thomas
I predict that I might change this rather ordinary day
into one that just might matter
finally the boredom shattered
Though my clothes may come out tattered
I'd surely relish the disarray
I will flee using oars in a contrary wind
and when I reach the distant shore, I won’t be sorry that I did
There’s a place I can go that it just won’t matter where I’ve been
Watch these oars make great big ripples in that water
Yeah, I'll make some giant ripples in that water
and tomorrow the chances are I'll be rowing farther
x |
|
 |
|