Mr. Richards, your position Is a messenger pigeon Left behind you when the camp moved on. We thought that you would listen But the words had never crystallized
It feels in dreams That everything is there for you The city breathes and pulses It's for you electron blue I knew that you could see right through
Everybody here Comes from somewhere But they would just as soon forget and disguise At the summer camp where you volunteered No one saw your face, no
The battle's been lost, the war is not won An addled republic, a bitter refund The business first flat earthers licking their wounds The verdict is dire
it's ready to explode Accelerate to make it slow Make it go Accelerate to make it slow Make it go I'm incomplete I'm incomplete I'm incomplete.