Take me where we drank back when
To that back booth where we boorishly dreamt
And scorned the rambling old patrons who warned
Of death and disease just round the bend
Follow me, we'll replace them, you know
Time is running short, my friend
In our harvest hours
Cook the fat we've left our young
Raised them to think like us
Betraying fathers, daughters, and sons
Steady, build this pyre
Dress me in a tire necklace
Pour some gasoline on it
Spark a fire so I can dance
Time is running short, my friend
Churches, books, and movies
They preached of self-sacrifice
While we feasted steady
With a self-serving appetite
Fast once to appease our conscience
Then we'd seize the night
No use, your lecturing
Or reflections on what has been
I never desired to think
Just chased the high of following threads
Can we feel the same as then?
In that back booth where we boorishly dreamt?
We're scorned by loathsome young patrons
We warn of disease and death just round the bend
Come, last chance to drink it all in, you know
Time is running short my friend
Pour gas on us
And strike a match
Light us up so we can dance
Time is running short my friend
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