Well the bozos talk of dawn  But it feels like Monday morn  On the washing lines  We still fight for what we fought  But it's getting kind of short  With these futures on our heels  And our sails in fresh winds and new signs  As we sail away...  You may sometimes misconceive  Seeing elders quietly leave  And accusingly  Poiting say they failed  While in turn yourselves hang nailed  On the landmarks of your own dreams  Every tide rushes out losingly  As we sail away...  Well the morning slowly rose  We were gone as first light froze  All the nightmare stars  While the ghosts of former graves  Gentle whispers in the waves  Fleeting shadows in the sails  Shift their sands through old hands into ours  As we sail away...