Eyes glare at the screen.
Self obsessed magazine.
It couldn't hurt to turn you off.
Pretend that this cord has an end.

Appliance built on alibis.
Wake up, watch your family die.
One picture at a time.
We're creating the final lullaby.
Listen. It's the slow steady hum of destruction.

Power cord creates a noose.
Eat the forbidden fruit.
Void receipt for a wireless heart.
Children manifest into plastic.

Window panes kept so dry.
No one sees the frame inside.
Holding cell for our apathy.
Connect me to the quiet humble earth.

Maybe it's true, I'm just like you, I just have less to say
I just have less to prove. There's a virus growing in me.

All fantasies catered to me. High-res social sodomy.
Infinite files. A resignation to empathy.

Full of shit patriots found the book and rendered it.
Leave an impression on your broth.
And forget why we lost our jobs.

Stare down at your hands, watch the keyboard grow within.
The creases skin can't cave in. Birth all over again.
Become this gargantuan we've created:

MORTAL MACHINES.

Our DNA has been replaced with binary code.
Wake up in space, the world's a hard drive.
Crashing, breaking, faking dead energies.

Potential got the best of us. We advanced too far past Darwin
And left holes in our humanity.

They're full of the promises we made before we hated God.


Lyrics submitted by ScreamingTrees666

Tetsuo: The Dead Man song meanings
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