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Lyrics
I built a raft with rope and tree,
No sails to set, no guarantee.
No flags above, no captain’s bell,
Just me and drift — and time will tell.
The stream runs fast, the banks grow wide,
But I don’t rush, I do not hide.
No golden star to chase or claim,
No crew to cheer, no quest for fame.
The river calls with foaming roar,
“Where is your chart? What is your shore?”
I smile and shrug, I float instead,
My course is carved inside my head.
They sail in packs, with steel and pride,
With storm-proof decks and kings inside.
But I’m alone, the wood is bare,
The wind is free, the sky is fair.
Let others race — I glide and hum,
I feel no whip, I beat no drum.
The world is loud with aim and gun,
But I belong to moon and sun.
No need to dock, no need to flee,
The stream is deep enough for me.
They ask what port I’m drifting to—
I say, “The sky. The dusk. The blue.”
The idea#
A raft of rope and tree, no sails, no flag, no captain’s bell—only drift and the private chart carved inside the head. Packs sail with steel and kings; this vessel stays bare wood under a fair sky.
Trance’s forward motion becomes gliding rather than racing. When the river roars for charts and shores, the answer is shrug and float. Destination: The sky. The dusk. The blue. Solitude without self-pity—belonging to moon and sun more than to aim and gun.
