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 boats,
|
left 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?
|
|
-----------------
|
The Flower Called Nowhere
|
| Stereolab |
