Backwater, we’re sailing at the edges of time
Backwater, we’re drifting at the waterline
Oh, we’re floating in the coastal waters
You and me and the porter’s daughters

Ooh, what to do not a sausage to do?
And the shorter of the porter’s daughters
Dips her hand in the deadly waters
Ooh, what to do in a tiny canoe?

Blackwater, there were six of us, but now we are five
We’re all talking to keep the conversation alive
There was a senator from Ecuador who talked about a meteor
That crashed on a hill in the south of Peru

And was found by a conquistador
Who took it to the emperor
And he passed it on to a Turkish guru

His daughter, was slated for becoming divine
He taught her, he taught her how to split and define
But if you study the logistics and heuristics of the mystics

You will find that their minds rarely move in a line
So it’s much more realistic to abandon such ballistics
And resign to be trapped on a leaf in a vine

Backwater, we’re sailing at the edges of time
Backwater, we’re drifting at the waterline
Oh, we’re floating in the coastal waters
You and me and the porter’s daughters

Ooh, what to do not a sausage to do?
And the shorter of the porter’s daughters
Dips her hand in the deadly waters
Ooh, what to do in a tiny canoe?