Vain and bored where the lines cross me out
Distilled perfection from a gutless shroud
Mark this moment; broken, she lost herself
Between each landmark is where she’ll find her ground

A monument to the wasteland she left a trace
Brutal beauty strengthened by her weathered face
If felt this place before, heard its unmistakable sound
Between each landmark is where she’ll find her ground

Facing forward, left behind
Wolves in shadows by my side
Dead man's compass held in my chest
Seek the landmark where she rests

Heavy are the hands that carry you with me
\(Carry you with me)
Soft are the tales told by the trees
You’ve cleared a path here not long before me
I’ll seek to find, to cement this belief

I reach a clearing, faced with a lake
Crossing this void can’t be a mistake
Dead man’s compass held in my chest
Seek the landmark where she rests
\(Where she rests)

Dr Victor Frankenstein: Are you dissatisfied?
Sir Malcolm Murray: I am seeking.
V: What?
M: Perhaps the same as you.
V: Mmm. I seek truth.
M: Ah...you’re a very young man. I’ve long since learned that truth is mutable.
V: Perhaps we view science differently.
M: Do we?
V: I would never chart a river or scale a peak, to take its measure or plant a flag. There’s no point. It’s solipsistic, self-aggrandisement. So too, those scientists, who study the planets, seeking astrological enlightenment for its own sake. The botanists, studying the variegation of an amazonian fern. The zoologists, caught up in the endless fascination of an adder’s coils. And for what? Knowledge for itself alone? The elation of discovery? Plant your flag on the truth? [Laugh]. There is only one worthy goal for scientific exploration - piercing the tissue that separates life, from death.

Awake from the haze, gripped by the thrall
Two tired eyes watch, smiling along
My ataraxia is in a field of stars
Beyond the wake of the setting sun

Vain and bored where the lines cross me out
Distilled perfection from a gutless shroud
Mark this moment; broken, she lost herself
Between each landmark is where she’ll find her ground

A monument to the wasteland she left a trace
\To the wasteland
Brutal beauty strengthened by her weathered face
\No trace, weathered face
If felt this place before, heard its unmistakable sound
\I’ve felt this place before
Between each landmark is where she’ll find her ground

I’m a wasteful man with helpless hands
I’m fucked without an insurrection