i dont believe that we can concieve   of an afterlife that's meant to be percieved   catastrophes, calamity, catastrophe   everyone loves a tragedy, but   there's guns there's guns guns guns   pointed at our head   everytime we close our eyes   but what are we, little folk   to do about this bakery full of lies      we don't need no one to turn out the lights for us   (when we go to sleep)   catastrophes calamities, in our dreams   when we dream we like to dream about tragedy and afterlife   a percieved reality, a tragedy   a catastrophe      it seems my life is only just pretend   and dreams are only what you make of them   and themes are reocurring so often   if i were wise i'd see a trend      we don't need no one to turn out the lights for us   arguing things that have never been said   the mail was empty, the books were unread      progress hindered by arrogance   inquiries made in present tense   future stars will be twice as dense as ours   twice as dense as ours   repetition shoved down my throat   answers given by anecdote   crueler sonnets were never wrote at all   never wrote at all      we don't need no one to turn out the lights for us   how can you sleep at a time like this   the answer was pointless, the question amiss   to err while conscious the words a mistake   how can i afford to stay awake