Lyrics

What could be true does not interest you at all As if you knew every new fact obscures the truth A mad orange slave on a slaver ship at dawn [?] Squinting your eyes and counting waves But shot back from traveling on a shuttle bus full of queasiness Headed home and hurtling forward towards a certain doom As the rain on the windshield streaks down the glass You notice a fissure, a glinting gold splinter then a sickening crack as your neck snaps and takes you back To a different Dutch slaver passing curving cliffs at dawn With grandpa's fat wraith directing you onward While his insect lieutenants hack limbs off with their swords You squint your eyes and count waves