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