Natures many varied things are hidden by these times
We plough the fields and scatter, the good seed all around

But it when it comes down to this, all that you read, and all that you plan, can never prepare, prepare you for this, the hand of fate.
We'd been walking for hours, up on the moors, and the fog had descended, leaving us lost, wandering round, trying to find the way.

Rain on rain on rain on rain left us soaked to the skin, soaked to the bone,
So I picked up magnetic North on the compass that I found.

Now we'd planned that trip well, but good plans go bad, when the elements turn, turn things on their head, visibilities gone and hazards await.
Your face was still bleeding, it just would not stop, and the mobiles not working, and I'm fit to drop, so we sat for a while up there on the moors.

The murky coloured air around me would not show me the way
My hands outstretched and fumbling at the compass, magnetic North

We were cold
We were young
We were foolish
Ill prepared
We were searching
Searching for something
Searching for anything
To get us home

Rain on rain..,