All around, be drifting my boat of life,

In the direction of chaotic wind;

Just bouncing in between the tides of strife;

Lost in the open sea, till land I find.

No paddle do I have to row my boat;

To tame it to my will and find a course.

My boat, among strong tides, do merely float;

And everyday at sea spent, makes it worse.

From time to time, I find a shore or two.

Though not suit my will nor what for I search.

Then back to sea to find another clue;

To reach that ultimate land where I'll perch.

Not so sure I am that will my boat crush?

In search of land, will my bones turn to ash?