| The rain has come | |
| He surrenders to his fate | |
| It is hiding him | |
| From the sounds of his mental state. | |
| And the rain falls | |
| And the rain pours down. | |
| It is fair to say | |
| That he drifted | |
| On the salt of the open sea | |
| And the words that bleed in his mouth | |
| Carry him, drag him to the deep. | |
| Heave your arms | |
| Caught adrift | |
| Embrace the shade. | |
| The drama is torn asunder | |
| Thus I fall inside my fate | |
| Waiting for the fever | |
| And I will sing to my crusade. | |
| Between the barren and fruitful | |
| I got lost in the daily grind | |
| There is no way that supports my | |
| Dark conceptions to unwind. | |
| I am the art for the people | |
| The apple of their crying eyes | |
| Missionaire for the seeking, now | |
| Chewing their lives with contempt. | |
| Like a stormfront that he precedes | |
| It is the sound of the dreamer that screams | |
| Bashing clocks he had always wondered | |
| But never spoke of | |
| It is the strength, the weakness | |
| And the perfect in between. | |
| The strength | |
| The weakness | |
| And the perfect in between. | |
| Facing everything that he walked upon | |
| The eye had hurried by | |
| Compromising the smallest | |
| Fractions of a particle. |
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