| Like Socrates, I only graze on the slopes
|
| Of the summit of my own ignorance
|
| Like Hippocrates, I can affirm that the method of science
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| Is an appliance that emancipates us from dogma
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| And slant and bias
|
| Seasons are changing
|
| Ah, the seasons are changing
|
| The velocities at which we now evolve
|
| Mean we got to dissolve unchecked tradition
|
| But atrocities go untouched under the guise of culture
|
| Committed on another mind, another heartbeat
|
| Heartbeat, heartbeat
|
| Seasons are changing
|
| Ah, the seasons are changing
|
| I’ve got a sinking feeling
|
| I’ve got a sinking feeling
|
| I’ve got a sinking feeling
|
| I’ve got a sinking feeling
|
| Like Sophocles we now wield the paintbrush
|
| So keep a tight, grip on a magnifying glass
|
| Our priorities now that we hold the torch
|
| Mean we got to hold it high to illuminate the dark
|
| And archaic and vile
|
| The seasons are changing
|
| The seasons are changing
|
| I’ve got a sinking feeling
|
| I’ve got a sinking feeling
|
| I’ve got a sinking feeling
|
| I’ve got a sinking feeling
|
| I’ve got a sinking feeling
|
| I’ve got a sinking feeling
|
| I’ve got a sinking feeling
|
| I’ve got a sinking feeling
|
| I’ve got a sinking feeling
|
| I’ve got a sinking feeling
|
| I’ve got a sinking feeling
|
| I’ve got a sinking feeling
|
| We swear allegiance to no one
|
| We swear allegiance to no one
|
| We’ll never let go of the microscope
|
| No matter how callous the shells
|
| We’ll harness the heat of the sun
|
| And we’ll burn you out of fucking existence |