Backwater We're sailing at the edges of time Backwater We're drifting at the waterline Oh we're floating in the coastal waters You and me and the porter's daughters Ooh what to do not a sausage to do And the shorter of the porter's daughters Dips her hand in the deadly waters Ooh what to do in a tiny canoe
Black water There were six of us but now we are five We're all talking To keep the conversation alive There was a senator from ecuador Who talked about a meteor That crashed on a hill in the south of peru And was found by a conquistador Who took it to the emperor And he passed it on to a turkish guru.
His daughter Was slated for becoming divine He taught her He taught her how to split and define But if you study the logistics And heuristics of the mystics You will find that their minds rarely move in a line So it's much more realistic To abandon such ballistics And resign to be trapped on a leaf in a vine.
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