This maybe a superstition
The life we are forced to take,
Like many of the things
We used to believe

Everyone refused to die
Unless it's an immaculate ascension
To our perceived
Culmination of all heavenly on earth

Millions and millions
Seconds they past
While we dance
Into the flames

Every night is longer
Much longer than before
Yet we laugh
And cry when we're through

It scares me enough
Realizing this much
The fools we are credited for
Was our consequence of
Being superstitious