Born of a systematic scheme,
clear skies rusting the chains of confinement.

Carefully taken from a labourous life,
to once again walk unshackled.
For time has yet to come and whisk you away.

Chorus:
Territoriality,
fused with the need for a choice.
Come within inches of losing your grasp,
the time of unrest has come.

Broken glass on the ground.
The time of unrest has come.
Born of a systematic scheme,
a vigil of hills and valleys below.

Chorus

Commanders Of The Fleet,
open the assault on the psyche.
A vigil of hills and valleys below,
the barrier guarding what the mind must not know.

Born of a systematic scheme...