Communication's cutting out
Our last remains and whereabouts
With voices that we've strained to hear
Transmitting through the atmosphere
It doesn't seem to make much sense
So caught up in the present tense
We're told who we should love and hate
But no one ever gets it straight
Pretty soon there's nothing left
With fabled truths we still repress
It isn't much at all, it isn't much at all
As fires light these tortured skies
We sit around and wonder why
Left burning out beyond the smoke
In whispers that they never spoke
Polluting every star-filled night
We're trapped beneath these satellites
While holding on to watch them turn
Forgetting what we never learn
Pretty soon there's nothing left
With fabled truths we still repress
It isn't much at all, it isn't much at all
Gonna turn up underground, gonna turn up underground
As we filter out the sounds, now we filter out the sounds
Gonna turn up underground, gonna turn up underground
As we filter out the sounds, can we filter out the sounds?
They're much too loud
They're much too loud
Communication's cutting out
Communication's cutting out
Communication's cutting out
Our last remains and whereabouts