I spend too long in the shower thinking about Apocalypse and what I'll do when we run out of time While drinking water in Wilcannia costs 60 Bucks a week 'cause the irrigators bled the river dry And we don't live in a paradise waiting for the Fall but a palace built of blood and theft and war So I must start by tearing down its walls and Unravelling all the lies that we've been taught Anger's not enough just on its own A horrifying tragedy on a tapestry of Violence, red stitches sewn far too close to home And isn't it uncomfortable just how in place They look on top of all that we've already sewn? So when you pull at one thread the rest all cling On tight 'til it feels easier to give up and let be But do you want to be one of the Threads holding together all this misery?