this boat of discontent brings me to no shore.
and i will sink have i not the will to paddle forth.
from whence i sit i complain,
my feet too wet and the air too cold.
if to the dry lands i go,
from whence i would complain;
my feet too sandy and the air too humid.
if ever i could create a kingdom of utopia,
it would have no better last than this earth has been for me.
i know this for i am not on this boat of discontent;
this boat of discontent...
is me.