She packed her bag in Stockholm town with slogans on her shirt Decided she would save the world though she’d never touched the dirt Picked a place upon a map that sounded sad and far Said this is where we’ll make our stand, and then she bought a jar A jar of peanut butter for the angry Irish crew The Brits showed up with megaphones and inflatable canoes They joined the world flotilla with their banners in a twist And sailed in random circles making hashtags from the mist They’re so mad, so bad, so clueless on the sea Posting righteous selfies with the gulls and cup of tea They light another flare and shout it’s justice that they seek But it’s just a floating circus burning daylight every week They stopped in Barcelona just to shout outside a bar Proclaimed they’d topple empires while misplacing where they are They passed around a drone and tried to launch it from the deck It landed in the water with a very soggy wreck They drifted on to Crete and staged a march upon the pier But half the crew got sunburned and the slogans disappeared They argued over hashtags and whose photo got more likes Then launched another flare that set off three nearby bikes They’re so mad, so bad, so clueless on the sea Posting righteous selfies with the gulls and cup of tea They light another flare and shout it’s justice that they seek But it’s just a floating circus burning daylight every week At last the month was over and their fuel was running low They staged a final photo shoot and put on quite a show Then headed home in triumph, though they hadn’t saved a soul But claimed they’d fought the system and they’d played a vital role They’re so mad, so bad, so clueless on the sea Posting righteous selfies with the gulls and cup of tea They light another flare and shout it’s justice that they seek But it’s just a floating circus burning daylight every week
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