Obfuscation Swansong
Running low, low
In the night
The gears are turning
Somewhere deep inside the fuel is burning
From incubation to cremation our lives are controlled
Plugged into our sockets, fed with preprocessed junk
information
Flying high on our virtual wings of air
Alienation
Ears shut, eyes shut, living a dream, so beautiful, so
graceful, it can't be real
Here enjoying the fruit of a dying tree
Exploitation
The end justifies the means
Art for art
Pleasure for pleasure
Valves of survival are forgotten
Death before inconvenience
It's decadence
I see it all around
Its song fills my ears and eyes
Waiting for the tides of time
Swansong of western culture
Beautiful, sad and cruel
Fading out and dying out
As we're running out of fuel
