underneath our streets are more streets
i saw you flying
they think im built of numbers
they think youre built of numbersone hundred years down and times
made dust of bonesyou could say that you will be ready
with a feeding tube strung through
your gas mask
all your words used to have meaning
but they lost their cores
float unmooredshould you get bored
turn to the screen with a steady pour
poor poor masses
little more slumber
little folding of the hands to rest
fold your hands to rest
Enjoy the lyrics !!!