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'n, 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...