Lyrics

This place, it smells like death
The underworld’s foul breath
And by this place, of course I mean, all that we see or seems

There’s an end before the end
Where our faculties descend
And the light behind our eyes hits a prism, splinters, bends

What’s this prism after all?
A century made awfully small
By time’s enormous awful sprawl
And annihilation’s ceaseless call

There’s an end before the end
Where our faculties descend
To dwell on things that might have been
And will never be again

Bound to machines, that bleat and wail and cry
We disappear before we ever die