And the dull, dull stories behind;
Where do I go to clean my slate?
So I can write about the things I love
And avoid the things I hate.
I am rowing again towards where the sun sets,
Towards where the night took my light away,
Avoiding the calls and cries of my crowd
And tearful faces beneath the waves;
It was a beautiful ship,
That I stupidly hoped would never sink,
Now I see only wood that’s decayed;
What can I do but shake my head,
Look up to the sky and forget,
Spread my wings and fly away,
Fly so far away that I lose my way,
Fly to where I can be pure,
Now I understand,
I just wanna be pure.