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I don't want to be just another resource sucker,
seems to be a certainty we're of a dying breed.
I'm not ready to die, but I'm sure my days are numbered,
it's such a silly concept to be the one who needs.
Head is snapping back, could have sworn I hit the bottom,
to that awful pool of emptiness, the space between the strings.
The stakes are pretty high, but I'm waiting for the outcome,
Cause mortality's a governess and I am just a being.
In brief, I feel, the world is turning slower
mapped out by the lights outside the windows in the east.
The line we trace is never really over
'til the sun turns red and big and swallows everything.