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