So this country is an island
this city a thousand more
this street another dozen
maybe fewer, maybe more
A thousand scowling natives
a thousand untapped mines
a thousand golden towers
a thousand untold crimes
And I’m Vasco da Gama,
sometimes Cortés on the shore
struggling to stake new claims
some are bloody, some are poor
I’m the one that watches
the steel wielding end
as all of my old temples fall
ages broken never bend
But there is no choice but sailing on
unless you stay to sink
because the seas between these islands
swallow up those
who stop
to think
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