It doesn't matter
no one understands
we're all light bombers
and distant lands like distant
dreams make it seem impossible
until the flares light
dropping tongues of fire,
I can hear them chattering through
the torn limb of a long night,
but it doesn't matter and it never did
we the transparent society have hid our dead in books and things that are
never read
dead print for the hard of hearing and lint rags dressed up in fancy tags and butchered by the retailers, but hell what do we care?

We go bare *** and they imagine bohemian glass, I'm glad the end is running in and when we're tossed into the ******* bin
maybe we'll start again.

They used to put malefactors in the stocks and throw rotten fruit at them,
now they put such men in tower blocks and give them window boxes where they grow their **** and you wonder why I bleed
I need another drink to sink the last one and one more to make sure.

Anyway running on fumes through these haunting ruins where it all begins
the world spins
more die
less try and we're told to buy
the latest
told that we're the greatest
and it doesn't really matter
because no one believes
it anyway.