All cut out of the garden, the garden run bone dry
This land not mine, but I’m buried in the fat of it
All cutouts, we’re all just following the signs
Water, it’s turned, and we’re drowning in the flat of it

And we watch through the veil
Marching on to the grave
And we march blinded by more that what we’re meant
Meant to see, meant to be, marching on, marching on…

Too turned on, so tired, just looking for a new way or a place
Way back, where we used our eyes to speak
There’s no choice but to wait in line for your tin of fate
Sign it reads YOU ARE HERE, but I’m worlds and worlds away

And we watch…

Open your arms again
Open your arms again
Open your arms again and bring me in
Open your arms again

And we watch…