The rose will blossom and bloom, developing her sweet perfume.
You wouldn't have it any other way.
It's a contest. Don't contest it. Don't let your morals affect it.
She'll represent us in this war where sea and shore will blend like iron and ore.
We'll blend like salt and water.
We'll melt like iron and ore.
She's our very own Mona Lisa. She's our very own Joan of Arc.

We'll settle this land with nothing but a satchel on our backs.
Oh how we carry our lives behind us.

We're all burning bridges so we can never travel back.
But is it better to leave it behind us?

Down port we are waiting for you.
Did you do what you came here to do?
We are here to discover the truth.
Lay your hand down now.

Not now with you, I will never go.

Report what you harvest to me.
This could be our year of plenty.
Follow me like a sheep into the sea.
You're in good hands now.

Come friends, come enemies.
Be my acquaintance.
Can you equate to all the things that we have lost?
That we will never find again?

Your verbal remedies.
We're not enough this time.
Now I've become the robber and the desert is my land.
So I'll hoard every grain of sand.