|
We were seeded |
|
By a mother culture |
|
Children of genius |
|
That have stalled into ignorance. |
|
The writings on the wall |
|
Spell out a surprising past. |
|
We only decipher them |
|
To be primitive artistic rash. |
|
God dies when the churches rise |
|
He was born when the ancient astronauts arrived |
|
The heavens exist and our maker is there, |
|
Death is not the way to visit, technology is our only prayer |
|
The gods left behind, |
|
We're just scorned upon when appealed |
|
They are the maps to our existence |
|
That are soon to be revealed |
|
The writings on the wall |
|
Spell out a surprising past. |
|
We only decipher them |
|
To be primitive artistic rash. |
|
God dies when the churches rise |
|
He was born when the ancient astronauts arrived |
|
The heavens exist and our maker is there, |
|
Death is not the way to visit, technology is our only prayer |
|
Not ready to be the grateful slaves of the state |
|
God dies when the churches rise |
|
He was born when the ancient astronauts arrived |
|
The heavens exist and our maker is there, |
|
Death is not the way to visit, technology is our only prayer |
|
[x2] |