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Sick of immortality, we've sharpened all the razors |
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And the pets aren't going hungry 'cause they've never learned to feed themselves |
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Robbed of all connection to the world of creature instinct |
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We have no regard for anything that can't increase our comfort |
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Living hand to mouth with no arms to defend ourselves from entropy |
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Skidding to a halt upon a road that's paved with ulcers |
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Breathing in the skin that covers everything in layers |
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Like the silt in all the river beds, we're spilling past insolvency |
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Go on, put the knife down |
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You've been looking mighty grim, but there's no turning 'round |
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Go on, take the map down |
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Water takes us all away, and floats us till we drown |
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Lacking in intensity, despite our best intentions |
|
Go from parody to role model in seven easy lessons |
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Boredom is the killer and we struggle to anticipate |
|
Just how we will be vilified by future generations |
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Staring down the barrel that has leaked into the watershed |
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Concerned about our future infiltration of the market |
|
So we look into the headlamp of the steam-engine of progress |
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As it turns the virgin landscape into air-conditioned cinemas |
|
Go on, put the knife down |
|
I've been waiting 40 days to hit that higher ground |
|
Go on, put the map down |
|
You've been looking mighty grim, but there's no turning 'round |
|
[Solo] |
|
Go on, put the gun down |
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Don't you know that we've been waiting so long to set a pattern for the higher ground |
|
What a goddamn waste of a pretty good hand |
|
The last of the race, now, the final land |
|
It was all that we built upon, ripped apart |
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It... what we're drifting on |
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No way out, no way you'll ever bring it down |
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Though we floated round and round and round |
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Hoping that we'd see something that'd bring it round |
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No one, no, no, no one's gonna help us now |
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Go on |
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Pass the gun round |
