There’s something coming now. They cut the feed But all the undercover homily Is breaching through the static and the noise Braining all the owners little toys I guess the trick is just to light it up Till the signal’s dead and quiet
So what’s your problem? Tell me what you see The ones that learn to honor apathy The faces of formaldehyde that do it But maybe there’s no other answer to it I guess the trick is just to light it up Till the signal’s dead and quiet