^FThere is glass b^Ametween our^F touch, ^Fphantom limbs of^Am former l^A#ove... ^A#and the truth ^Fis that I^A# am s^Amo ter^Gmrif^Fied

^Fthat the callous is^Am deeper ^Fthan ^Fthe surf^Amace of our ^Fskin ^A#and it takes ^Amus twi^Fce as l^A#ong, it t^Amakes u^Fs twice as l^Gmong ^{F C} to he^Fal.

^Fwe'll lift up the^Am ground to^F see ^Fthe system of^Am roots be^Fneath. gears t^Amurn, endless^A#ly, to bring the ^Amworld back to ^A#life like clock^Cwork, when ^Fit dies.

^Fthe cadence of^Am beating h^Fearts, ^Fthe click of its^Am moving^F parts ^Fgrows louder and^A# louder ^Ffrom this^Am restless ^A#earth...

f^A#utur^Fe ga^Frden^Ams wait pat^Amiently b^A#elow and ^Amsomehow we smell th^A#em blo^Cssom through the sn^Fow.

^Fstill un^Amsatisfi^Fed, ^Fwe chase what^Am we're de^Fnied. ^Fas gen^Amerations w^Fait, ^Fwe can't r^Amesist the^A# taste of^Am possibility. ^A#gears ^Amturn, endlessl^Fy, to bring us ^Amback to life ^A#again. like cloc^Ckwork, we^F begin.