Reason comes to the surface like an infected pond
Suffocating the life out of dreams and hope
But that’s ok, it’s just a small pond in the circle of life
Bigger fish will come from different ponds
The memory, however, shall remain constant forever
The fun times afloat our two-seater
Rowing slowly around the familiar banks of destiny
Wearing in the good spots of weathered wear
The boat it can sink, but I surely can swim
The fish it can run, but I surely can reel
The oars they can break, but surely I can then kick
But if, upon the banks where I stand
I should see such a torment dark seas that do bring
I shall pack up my oils, wear my wellingtons proudly
And head home, till the banks they do clear