One day, they'll paint our faces And they'll stretch our skin Until we finally give in For they are nasty, brutish and tall And they will kill everything They'll gobble us all Resolve to hide when they speak All of their teachings drown in our moments of peace What you knew we, too, will forget But may we never grow up enough to regret See that you don't let your digital mistakes haunt you Most men lead lives Of little deaths and quiet desperation And most men lead lives Of little deaths and suffering One day, we must get older And beg to be loved Until we keel over But what is this heart if not a spring? And what are these tendons, if they are not strings? Adult, am I not the future? Are we not the present, the soon-to-be past? Oh you'll die cold, if you can't perceive That I am sooner a swarm of bees Than a sole, static 'me' Most men lead lives Of little deaths and quiet desperation And most men lead lives Of little deaths and suffering