Helpless, tortured hearts inside each of us
Lonely in a crowded world
Every passing ship holds a different flag
A different message, a different map
Without knowing where we’re headed
Unsure of whether we’ll like the destination
But we keep those oars moving
And the sails flung high
Not mine
I’ve carefully folded the canvas, and pulled in my oars
Maybe the current was going
The Right Way
All along