Epilogue: A sound off from simple people with simple theories
Fucking up, but articulate, with a feeble grasp of arithmetic
Fueled by false determination, and the final breath of a declining nation
Where do you think that the remedy is? And why do you think it even exists?

This building is falling down

Paradox: A nodding off from imploding circles with no direction
Take a look in the fucking mirror, and ask yourself who the enemy is
Last call at the gas pump. Last call at the water pump
Who do you think are your fucking friends?
Who do you think are your fucking friends?