There is a boat. Carved out of the biggest Oak.
With Ivory oars. And none to row.
I look with envy. I look without hope.
I watch its rotting away with the crop.
I know not how to Oar. I'm afraid to step afar.
I want to cross the ragged sea. I Want to fight its monsters head on.
I am sick of running away. I want to be sea sick again.
I don't want to be a coward. Or an earthly prince.
I am a prisoner. And prisoners die a slow death.
To escape my fate I look at the boat.
I would row across and reach unfamiliar shores.
I would sell the ivory worth its weight in gold.
The gold will fetch me men and arms.
An Army I shall build.
An Army I shall fight.
An Army I shall defeat.
Our Victories shall not lose its charm.
A King I shall be. Inherit a kingdom so warm.
As a King I shall rule. At the capital my throne.
A beautiful queen. And hungry subjects gone.
I shall be kind and merciful. Noble and Just.
I shall live a comfortable life and return to dust.
All this and many more valiant prophecies in store.
Only if i knew how to row an Ivory Oar.
