Fine dust drifts down from above,
Covers the Earth like skin.
Even the sky is heavy with poison,
Cries tears that only blinds us.
This is our moment and this is our song,
Soon to be unsung. Face it—
The more that you know, the worse you are.
Drink up; refill your cup. You’re drunk.
Some today will sing songs of Hope.
They know that it’s wrong,
But who wants to praise futility of song?
Where is the hero who says “I am not essential”?
Praise, instead, the futility of song.
Acknowledge that love was here and now is gone.
Tomorrow, go to the bank and count your money.
All you believe is wrong.
Go buy a gun. Buy six guns!
Do you think that guns will save you?
Look in a mirror and what do you see?
Do you know both sides of the mirror are blind?
The more you know, the less you are.
Can you face that reality? It’s too late—
Whatever you think you know is wrong.
There’s nothing to put in your cup but dust.