I'm on a raft,
In the middle of a river.
Winds are blowing,
Currents are raging,
And yet it is my lip that starts to quiver.

Can't believe that I'm about,
To be pushed down stream.
By that same familiar wind,
Which I always sail by.
Sailors stories always follow the same theme.

First the great catch,
So many pictures to take.
Then you start to settle down,
And get your story straight.
One person always seems to keep the date.

But then the river,
It comes to terms with me.
Says it no longer wishes,
For me to sail in its self.
How many tears has the sky seen?

No longer wants me here,
Although it cast me out.
Doesn't feel the same,
Since I sailed into the rocky shoreline.
Here comes the drought.

So now I walk,
Walking on the sands,
Between me and the world.
Looking for a drinking spot,
That will meet my throat's small demands.

My map,
Although out dated.
Has some spots,
I have been to.
Though now some seem so overrated.

I will wander,
On the sands which I must stay.
Looking for something,
That can keep me alive,
Except that river which I will stay away.