Maybe it started when our favourite bars turned into bougie garbage
Or when every single anchor line went slack.
We had it in our heads that change like this required bloody carnage
But we cut our own damn throats behind our backs.
'Cause they didn't come with weapons but with theories of production,
And the gleam of our ambition cast in plastic on a plinth,
And a tempting way of thinking of our hungry side as some innate instruction,
And a way to think you're floating when you sink.

Every centre was a hole,
Every thing was its container.
We were never good at change
But we were champion complainers.
And we'd surely blame the water
Just for yielding to our feet,
But if the drowning came on slow enough
We'd swear that it was breathing.

The map is accurate you simply have to find the place that matches,
If you can't just dig it out of living rock.
We cut channels in our faces with a million tiny scratches
A little deeper every run around the clock.
When we'd stripped down all the forests
And we'd made the oceans sick
And we'd kicked away the ladders from the great surrounding wall,
Well we huddled round the tower and we turned our gazes inwards
So we couldn't see the edges of our wretched selves at all.

//chorus

Yeah the past is all cast shadows
Though the future isn’t sunny,
And the punchline is a payload
It was never all that funny.
We weren’t making anything
But we were good at making money.
We could sacrifice ‘em all,
It won’t bring back our god damn honey.

(We could sacrifice them all, it won’t bring back our god damn honey
We could sacrifice them all, and we won’t get nothing)

//chorus