Cut Off Moon Lyrics

Simply we are the losers
Some of the finest loser the game has seen
Our blood runs thicker than custard
Our feet that drag corpses
Our garbage we pile into totems
Our prayers they go unanswered
Our deepest suspicions always confirmed
Our kids don't sing or write letters
To them, everything that doesn't explode is mundane
20 time smarter than us, they know the Earth through
photos
Never touched a dog, or threw a mailbox into the road
They never went egging on Halloween, or playing spin
the bottle at age 14
They were having kids at 13
Never joined gangs expect for corporations, colleges,
armies, and expeditions
But never saw war
All problems were handled by probability
You might win this one, but the next one might be the
last the galaxy ever sees
Outpost
Cut off from the center might disintegrate
If no food arrives in 20 light years we're goners
They might have burned books for heat
But now no one reads
And they might have planted plants for air
But someone ate the seeds

Lying here on a cut of moon
Recycling water and sick of soy
Watching others take their own lives
I don't want to stop thinking
They say "Focus on the light."
But here, the night is 13 days, 6 hours and I can't
sleep through it

So now we hope for the best and expect to stave to
death come winter's winter
Thought that god might show us some mercy, but we never
showed none
Thus I guess we get what we deserve in time Like billions of souls lost in the pitch black
Trying to hitchhike back to Jesus's arms
But swallowed up into the lungs of alien gods
Everywhere we went we were free as a Egyptian slaves to
toil and terraform
Every success a mini genocide
Back home, those who couldn't leave fought bitter
victories
Millions fought over the Great Lakes
Poisoned it's water with shrapnel waste and cooked
limbs
Needless to say, that was a real tough summer for some
But few care about those forgotten nations
History began when we let them fill the stars like ants
in space
The only enemies we found were each other
When things get rough, cousins are no long cousins
Walking is running and chasing is survival
I mean, honestly, graves are desecrated easily
With no memory of is this real, am I neurons or data?
I must be data, because that makes sense, only machines
survive
It's too quite, too peaceful
Yet somehow I'm content and probably wrong
This is most likely real and I'll most likely die
before I hit 150
Father and mother, whoever you are, why'd you birth me?
Was it ego, or to fight the present, or just to keep
that bacteria spreading?
Planet to planet all weeds plot for domination
We should've know better
But who need equilibrium when you've got plasma cannons
and robots to do the dirtwork out there?
There's too many bosses and no one to trust
And no one to pick up your chin when it's too dry for
tears

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