Postcards From The Future
Leif Garrett! Leif Garrett!
Your pants never fit quite right. And your android ass so tightly packed into designer saran wrap. Uber man, in junkie drag, a sad, sick, and fucked up mess. Water and earth will wash away their pests.
Engines hum deep into the night on endless repeat by satellite, 20 years toward Cygnus X-1.
Postcards to posterity, your memory like excrement. Cold crap in the backed up bowels of deep space.
From the boulevards of bourgeois boutiques to the fashion runways of Paris chic. I can't believe the shit we eat, for I know it goes down so hard.
Engines hum deep into the night on endless repeat by satellite, 20 years toward Cygnus X-1. The only sad remains left of you in 2362, beamed back through infinite re-run.
Ruins! Freaky funky artifacts to disco corporate anthems, a message forwarded from hell to anyone dumb enough to actually listen.
Sad, sick and insane, the mechanics have always been the same for the replicon children of empire's belly.
Choose to remember for you're be remembered, the day empire falls.
Choose to remember for you'll be remembered, when autumn war winds call.
Broken children, it's not too late. The future is unwritten. Underground army, enlist today.
History will serve as witness.