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?