In shifting sands our lot stands, drenched and reeking of brine,
With calloused hands our haggard bands stand and stride to where the truth resides.
We sense the surging labour to communicate, to contemplate and constrain
The wildly irreverent divine.

Forward and falling, we canonize and criticize,
Drinking what we cannot digest,
And turning stone cold seas with salt-caked hands, clutching only sea,
We struggle here, standing here,
Pained by the truth´s salinity and thirsting for more.

In shifting sands our lot stands, drenched and reeking of brine,
Against the storm we stand alone, fighting against the tide.
We sense the surging labour to communicate, to contemplate and constrain,
But it´s all lost to the tides.

Forward and falling.... etc.

-Rob Veith. Lyrics reprinted by permission

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