With a cold light transfixed upon us And fear up in arms against our sides The terror of perpetual motion The laughing of the never-ending tide So we yearned and ached for some movement And we all put our key players into play But we mustn't let them export or input All the livelong dying of their days And the disembodied head of Dr. Jones Comes speaking at and to us from the grave But there's something deeper, something darker Something colder and very old Something much uglier than he So we converse in hushed tones Between our rows of books Scheme schemes, drink drinks and light cigars And we can do nothing but become who we are not And try to look into the future far But then all our progress, all of our progress Our progress comes crashing, it all comes crashing Yeah, all of our progress comes crashing down upon our heads