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Simply we are the losersSome of the finest loser the game has seenOur blood runs thicker than custardOur feet that drag corpsesOur garbage we pile into totemsOur prayers they go unansweredOur deepest suspicions always confirmedOur kids don't sing or write lettersTo them, everything that doesn't explode is mundane20 time smarter than us, they know the Earth through photosNever touched a dog, or threw a mailbox into the roadThey never went egging on Halloween, or playing spin the bottle at age 14They were having kids at 13Never joined gangs expect for corporations, colleges, armies, and expeditionsBut never saw warAll problems were handled by probabilityYou might win this one, but the next one might be the last the galaxy ever seesOutpostCut off from the center might disintegrateIf no food arrives in 20 light years we're gonersThey might have burned books for heatBut now no one readsAnd they might have planted plants for airBut someone ate the seedsSongtexteLying here on a cut of moonRecycling water and sick of soyWatching others take their own livesI don't want to stop thinkingThey say "Focus on the light."But here, the night is 13 days, 6 hours and I can't sleep through itSo now we hope for the best and expect to stave to death come winter's winterThought that god might show us some mercy, but we never showed noneThus I guess we get what we deserve in timeLike billions of souls lost in the pitch blackTrying to hitchhike back to Jesus's armsBut swallowed up into the lungs of alien godsEverywhere we went we were free as a Egyptian slaves to toil and terraformEvery success a mini genocideBack home, those who couldn't leave fought bitter victoriesMillions fought over the Great LakesPoisoned it's water with shrapnel waste and cooked limbsNeedless to say, that was a real tough summer for someBut few care about those forgotten nationsHistory began when we let them fill the stars like ants in spaceThe only enemies we found were each otherWhen things get rough, cousins are no long cousinsWalking is running and chasing is survivalI mean, honestly, graves are desecrated easilyWith no memory of is this real, am I neurons or data?I must be data, because that makes sense, only machines surviveIt's too quite, too peacefulYet somehow I'm content and probably wrongThis is most likely real and I'll most likely die before I hit 150Father 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 dominationWe should've know betterBut 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 trustAnd no one to pick up your chin when it's too dry for tears Aus Songtexte Mania