Where'd the wild things go? Underground until the burn, and now we're the mole-men-persons and they own this place leaf to root.
By the flarelight, crawling, it's appalling how we've grown accustomed to the carnage in the darkness and the cold. And the sun is always setting, and forgetting to return. We've learned that all is fleeting and soon we'll follow. Now we dream like dead leaves dragging back into the trees, desperately trying just to find a way to please. In the dimming cathode blue look at me, I look like you. We have grown so unable to turn the tables or see through. Smile was a greeting, now what's the meaning? A baring of the teeth, yeah I know, I'm weak.