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...