Cryptic, claws of the season
Grip like the sun with a glare
Blinding bend the horizon
Helmsman chart me through the despair
Live
I think I want to live
Give
There's nothing left to give
Bos', squall she is comin
Set us a break from the quay
Latitude where the horse is swimming
My spirit will jump in the wake
Live
I think I want to live
Give
There's nothing left to give
We must scour the world for a sign
And a reason to live
The motive's hard to find"¦