The Flower Called Nowhere

All the small boats on the water aren't going anywhere

Surely they must be loaded with more than simple matter

Floating on top and gracefully tending to the same pole

All the small boats on the water going nowhere

Is it true that none of them will ever break free and sail

Feel the night is made of rocks

The stagnant mass

Is it true that none of them will ever break free and sail

Break free from the stagnant things

Left in obscurity there

In obscurity

All the faces with their eyes closed giving a smile

Weightless like a body that would vacate to its own light

Is it true that none of these contented happy faces

Will not ever hear a cry

Won't hear a cry

Is it true that none of these contented happy faces

Will not ever hear a cry

Filled with love not with desire

Love not desire

All the small boats on the water aren't going anywhere

Surely they must be loaded with more than simple matter

Floating on top and gracefully tending to the same pole

All the small boats on the water going nowhere

Is it true that none of them will ever break free and sail

Break free from the stagnant things

Left in obscurity