mbo: Winston King! daddy!

Backwater!
We’re sailing at the edges of time 
Backwater!
We’re drifting at the water-line 
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?

Black water!
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 the vine.