| Man, born | |
| Locked down by the water | |
| Hear the rustle spat out from the corner | |
| As we are thrown | |
| Right into the arms of the sea. | |
| Sheer bliss. | |
| The dense cold collides | |
| The cliffs loomed up in the distance | |
| As they exhale, inhale. | |
| We must be born anew | |
| To paint our portraits like the way we are | |
| We must learn to breathe again | |
| To reach the core of patterns in our souls. | |
| Maybe we are something we are not | |
| It gives us a reason to be | |
| The spine of our soulless approach | |
| That gives us a reason to die. | |
| Grand your light to the sun | |
| And turn your back on the shells | |
| At the shores, the sea. | |
| Sow your seeds into the soil | |
| And recall the ideas that we shared | |
| In the years that we spent to progress. | |
| Oversee to be free, mesmerize | |
| And try to embrace the arms that come forth | |
| By the days of resurgence stream. | |
| Change me | |
| Drain all blood from the wounds | |
| And sleep your woes, slumbering | |
| Shed your skin and swim | |
| Right into the arms of the sea. | |
| The waves lifting, rising from the oceans | |
| The undertow breathes again | |
| As we are thrown | |
| Right into the arms of the sea. | |
| The dense cold collides | |
| The cliffs loomed up in the distance | |
| As they exhale, inhale. | |
| Maybe we are something we are not | |
| That gives us a reason to be | |
| The spine of our mental approach | |
| That gives us a reason to live. |