| When they look back at us and they write down their history
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| What will they say about our generation?
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| We’re the ones who knew everything and still we did nothing
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| Harvested everything, planted nothing
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| Well we live pretty well in the wake of the goldrush
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| Floating in comfort on waves of our apathy
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| Quietly gnawing away at Her body
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| Until we mortgage the future, bury our children
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| Storehouses full with the fruits we’ve been given
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| We send off the scrag-ends to suckle the starving
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| But still we can’t feed this strange hunger inside
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| Greedy, restless and unsatisfied
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| I was never much one for the great «Big Bang» theory
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| Going out in a blaze of suicidal glory
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| Not foolish and brave, these leaders of ours
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| Just stupid and petty, unworthy of power;
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| Just a little leak here and a small error there
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| Another square mile poisoned forever
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| A series of sad and pathetic little fizzles
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| And out go the lights, never to return
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| The affair it is over, the passion is dead
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| She stares at us now with ice in Her eyes
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| But we turn away from these bitter reproaches
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| And take up distractions to forget what we’re doing
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| I stand on these hills and I watch Her at night
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| A thousands square miles, a million orange lights
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| Wounded and scarred, She lies silent in pain
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| Raped and betrayed in the cold acid rain
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| And I wish and I wish
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| We could start over again
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| Yes I wish and I wish
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| We could win back Her love once again |