This will be my last night here.
In the morning I'll dip my feet in the water,
take a deep breath, and sail towards the sun.
The wind and the waves shall be my companions.

And I'll reach the shore by dusk, by dusk.

With my talking bird in the backseat, causing a ruckus,
I can't make any progress, so I kick him out.
He flys away with the wind, and I know I've sinned,
so I take a swim and I wash my mouth.

But I guard my heart from the salt that cleans, that cleans.
I guard my heart from the God I can't see, can't see.

The more I throw overboard, the faster I can travel.
I throw away a shirt and an anchor unravels,
but I still haven't moved that God-damned gavel,
and it's a weight that's heavier

than a thousand pairs of shoes, of shoes.

The clouds above are moving faster than me,
out of reach, going on for eternity.
I feel the wind, but it's stirring up the sea,
and I can't see where it's taking me.

When I made up my mind and my heart along with that,
to live not for myself, but yet for God, somebody said,
Do you know what you are getting yourself into?

When I finally ironed out all of my priorities
and asked God to remove the doubt that makes me so unsure of these
things I ask myself, I asked myself
Do you know what you are getting yourself into?

I've been a liar and a hypocrite to boot.
So filthy, so damn filthy, but you made me new.
I never knew that I could know something so true,
You say, I love you and that's what you are getting yourself into.

He loves you and that's what you are getting yourself into.