I got high with an art teacher of mine I learned how to paint portraits and landscapes with perspective But I've been sitting here The better part of eighteen years Blank stare blank canvas I'm in need of a new view Of some new scenery to render
There's a boat leaving Where it goes, well I don't know
I've been buried alive My history teacher by my side Lest I forget those mistakes that better men have made The battles fought and lost Small victories at what cost? The curriculum is dated, my inspiration fading A slow setting sun
There's a boat leaving Where it goes, well I don't know But if it floats I'm getting on With or without you
The winds are strong enough Our native tongues will fail us Oh the pleasure I would take In renaming everything
There are boats leaving Where they go, well I don't know But it's a chance to see something new Will you come with me?
