we're still sowing in the finite fields/ we're so content to live under a curse
we're still fabricating paradise/ with the thorns, with the flies and dirt
hold out for the upgrade, man/ let go of your sinking sand
this bent world's not the promised land/ this feeble frame's not meant to stand
this is just the flesh it's just the blood/ it's really not, it's not that tough
the bruised the fragile, cut up, scratched and scarred
it's just the feeble - just the feeble stuff
