First verse
I turned my back on Oxford lectures and walked to Mecca
I've had the need to walk away since I cannot remember
wanderlust...all that London ever offered us
was cholera coughs and the constant smell of coffin dust
my hearts at home in parts unknown and forgotten
it's not a hobby or job, I just got no other options
greed is a game, money's just a means of escape
I was playing it by saying what I needed to say
lied to kings, queens and popes for boats and gold
gave them all the glory, gave them no control
we used to be pirates, today we disguise it as science
...obsessed with that silent horizon
the sky is not the limit, it's stupid to assume
don't underestimate the apes who put some bootprints on the moon
today the names that get admired are the petty liars
...Marco Polo never even went to China
I been alone for days on the frozen wastes
tracing constellations while Satan spoke my name
I stowed away on a boat from Spain
a boat that sank off the coast of Maine in the soaking rain
survived for weeks off whatever I could find to eat
no time to sleep, walked a hundred miles at least
saw lost monuments to wasted greatness
nameless places, pagan standing on the graves of ancients
off the map, on the map, constant back and forth
before I pass the torch understand what you're asking for
and I will not answer questions so don't bore me
there's no glory, once you get to know the whole story
I got a thousand and one, doubt what I've done
scaled K2 shaking with a mouth full of blood
the sherpas turned silent, then turned and left
I headed further west in the face of certain death

Second verse
escaped from Nicaragua, sailed from Grenada
hit the rock of gibraltar and washed up in Malta
from there it gets sketchy and the symbolism's heavy
walked to Greece, swam across the baltic sea
woke up sober in Genova with a migraine
stole a stolen horse and rode across the high plains
to Rome...in diguise since my face is known
you place faith in Fate but I create my own
secret chiefs speak to me in fever dream fragments
fasted for weeks on the peaks of the East Passage
the need to exceed the known, just leave and go
the fever broke, I walked bleeding down Phonecian roads
found London in flames...as the populace panicked
I finally found my ride back across the Atlantic
the family manor was a prison to me
so I will never regret the things I did to be free
besides, before his whole enlightenment gig
first the Buddha walked out on his wife and his kid
and I won't deny I've provided some tribal chiefs
with some white meat from missionary bible freaks
and I know I don't die because the Jungle doesn't let me
off into the nothing with a compass and machete