Out of the womb into the microwave.
Lost in it's soup till it pulls you beneath the grave.
Get this woodpecker out of my head,
I can't hear myself think.
It's voice speaks through the radio,
telling me to go build the anti man.
Seeing life through the anti man's eye,
We are all perceiving a lie.
Hold it in your hands,
Wear it on your heads,
Put it in your arm.
You are pushing yourself into place.
We're killing god,
And we're building the anti man.
We are at war,
With our maker!
— The End —