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i dont believe that we can concieve
of an afterlife that's meant to be percieved
catastrophes, calamity, catastrophe
everyone loves a tragedy, but
there's guns there's guns guns guns
pointed at our head
everytime we close our eyes
but what are we, little folk
to do about this bakery full of lies

we don't need no one to turn out the lights for us
(when we go to sleep)
catastrophes calamities, in our dreams
when we dream we like to dream about tragedy and afterlife
a percieved reality, a tragedy
a catastrophe

it seems my life is only just pretend
and dreams are only what you make of them
and themes are reocurring so often
if i were wise i'd see a trend

we don't need no one to turn out the lights for us
arguing things that have never been said
the mail was empty, the books were unread

progress hindered by arrogance
inquiries made in present tense
future stars will be twice as dense as ours
twice as dense as ours
repetition shoved down my throat
answers given by anecdote
crueler sonnets were never wrote at all
never wrote at all

we don't need no one to turn out the lights for us
how can you sleep at a time like this
the answer was pointless, the question amiss
to err while conscious the words a mistake
how can i afford to stay awake