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 [bad word] with me?