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



As we sail away