Žodžiai dainai: Far. Tin Cans With Strings To You. Job's Eyes.

The birds would laugh at Job, their song would torture him
Always, a steady rain fell, soaking and chilling him
He could always see a dry, light place on the horizon
He would walk for miles, muttering "I'm sure this rain won't last
I'm sure its time is up, though it's pouring down I'm sure this rain won't last"

As it fell on Job's eyes, this water of doubt
He said, "I'm wading in lies, it's wearing me out
But if you want it, all right. I'll buy it" the trees whispered to Job
The wind screamed, "Blood too dirty for mosquitoes
I hope that you die soon, pray to any God you believe in"

One day, Job screamed back "Those people, they had families
Their families don't have them, you're not any God I believe in
I hope the rain ruins the work you did"
At that moment, the clouds parted

Job found himself in the sun
Job's God was left in the storm that he'd created
He moaned, "I'm sure this rain won't last
I'm sure its time is up, though it's pouring down
I'm sure this rain won't last"