when we had no boat
our childhood was a drawing of colored boats tied to a wooden port
watched by an angry man
who even if we ride in a dream
he would beat us with
his paddle
dreams sometimes come true
our minds work hard for it and so we have boats now
we travel for days just
to be with the river
where our boats are tied to a tree and being
taken cared of
by our trusted men
when we arrive there we admire only the color
of the boats, the beauty of the clouds that reflect themselves on the
clearest lake ever
we have no time to ride on them and sail
for now we worship the slipping hours
we do not even care what the fish feels there.
when we had no boat
our childhood was a drawing of colored boats tied to a wooden port
watched by an angry man
who even if we ride in a dream
he would beat us with
his paddle
dreams sometimes come true
our minds work hard for it and so we have boats now
we travel for days just
to be with the river
where our boats are tied to a tree and being
taken cared of
by our trusted men
when we arrive there we admire only the color
of the boats, the beauty of the clouds that reflect themselves on the
clearest lake ever
we have no time to ride on them and sail
for now we worship the slipping hours
we do not even care what the fish feels there.
our childhood was a drawing of colored boats tied to a wooden port
watched by an angry man
who even if we ride in a dream
he would beat us with
his paddle
dreams sometimes come true
our minds work hard for it and so we have boats now
we travel for days just
to be with the river
where our boats are tied to a tree and being
taken cared of
by our trusted men
when we arrive there we admire only the color
of the boats, the beauty of the clouds that reflect themselves on the
clearest lake ever
we have no time to ride on them and sail
for now we worship the slipping hours
we do not even care what the fish feels there.
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