I saved you a spot in the grand lineup, but you didn’t show up on time. So tell me that you haven’t seen a god, and I’ll make sure you can’t take your eyes off of the shrine.
Dig a deeper hole, and assume the ground won’t let you fall inside of it.
Live a fuller life, and don’t wait for sacred spacecraft to arrive.
Because you’re gonna find them on a not-so-distant world,
Hiding in the last corner that hasn’t been tarnished by the death and the cold.
Still, they glow in distress, signaling for help because they were alone,
But you have been what’s kept them within reality’s confides.
You anchored them with lines of overwhelming promise to expand to the heavens and back round again.
We scraped the sound off the cylinders and shades, cylinders and shades,
Bended the nouns and sent them back to space,
(we) Sent a message right up to the clouds, up to the clouds,
A message of vial disgrace... of vial disgrace:
“I give up now, put me back into place. There’s not one fitting moniker that will ever tag this face. Find me a home not of this road. Give back to the public and don’t ever regret it.”
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