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 boats
Left in obscurity, 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

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, left in obscurity