(Verse 1)
The tide rolled back, left suits upon the sand.
The towers dim, no helping hand.
They carry boxes, dreams unmanned.

(Verse 2)
One takes the wheel, one reads instead.
A shaky voice speaks up and says:
"The bread I burnt—come try a shred."

(Chorus)
We're planting seeds along the shore.
We're fixing lights and nothing more.
The tide returns, as tides restore,
And wheat will grow where grief once wore.

(Bridge)
I signed up for a class to learn the wire.
The wrench in hand feels like a fire.

(Outro)
The tide returns. The fields are gold.
A story waiting to be told.

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