| We were seeded
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| By a mother culture
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| Children of genius
|
| That have stemmed into ignorance
|
| The writings on the wall
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| Spell out our surprising past
|
| We wrongly decipher them
|
| To be primitive artistic rash
|
| God dies when the churches rise
|
| He was born when the ancient astronauts arrived
|
| The heavens exist and our maker is there
|
| Death is not the way to visit, technology is our only prayer
|
| Beacons left behind
|
| Which are scorned upon when appealed
|
| They are the maps to our existence
|
| That are soon to be revealed
|
| The writings on the wall
|
| Spell out our surprising past
|
| We wrongly decipher them
|
| To be primitive artistic rash
|
| God dies when the churches rise
|
| He was born when the ancient astronauts arrived
|
| The heavens exist and our maker is there
|
| Death is not the way to visit, technology is our only prayer
|
| We were made to be the grateful slaves of the stage
|
| God dies when the churches rise
|
| He was born when the ancient astronauts arrived
|
| The heavens exist and our maker is there
|
| Death is not the way to visit, technology is our only prayer |