My waves are tiny now, but they show you that I'm there
and if you're tracking my wake, you know I'm going somewhere.
The engine's always pushing, and I'm getting the hang of turning it
but I'm refining more fuel as we go and then I'm burning it.
You can chart my position, but I bet you can't plot the destination
it's somewhere between where I am and where I go in my imagination.
In the day dreams, and the night ones, you can sorta see the shape
but it's still carving out some space with every new mistake.
If we ever clear this fog I think we'll strike fertile land,
but buckle belts tight because I am winging this plan.