We're miles past mayday. Sleeping through your fate. All beacons weakening. All signals faint. The waters are too well charted, And tragedy well timed. And every survivor's story, Reeks of alibis. Mayday, mayday, But always a bit too late. Any clear blue morning, Disaster waits. And the captain's warming, To his display case. The best of the bottom-feeders, Bring them back alive. Settlement is the sum, Of self-protecting lies. Mayday, mayday, Inside this idyll of escape, If I die before I wake. Confidential orders keep these branks around your head. No one sings awakening the way we praise the dead. Conscience is a curse, maybe inertia is inbred. No one sings awakening the way we praise the dead. The waters are too well charted, And tragedy well timed. And every survivor's story, Reeks of alibis. Dear friends and enemies, Jettisoned memories, Foundation, family, and praise, All disappear without a trace.