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Boat on a hill, never going to sea.
Anchored to a fixer upper's dream.
This boat is beat, never going to be a boat now.
Thirsty, sees the sea from high on ice plant.
He keeps patching it and painting.
Thinking about his pension plan.
But the boat is out to pasture.
Seems it never had a chance.
I wanna be a boat. I wanna learn to swim
Then I'll learn to float. Then begin again.
Boat remembers the carpenter's sure hand.
Missing fishy flutter on it's rudder.
Sold at an auction, on a dolly ever since.
Sometimes rainy days bring boyish wonder.
