Lyrics

we are the sons of fallen fathers
we are the fathers of falling sons
it doesn’t help if no one bothers
to undo the things we’ve done

and we’re going nowhere
oh you know that we’re going in style
and we’re on the road to nowhere
with rest stops and amusements
at every mile

we chase our tails while our
tales are chasing us
we wag the dog until the kingdom come
so damn sure of the trail he’s chasing that
we’re not sure who we
take our orders from

we think ourselves a human garden
precious seeds for some ‘master plan’
but at the rate we’re going
(and the weeds are choking)
and we keep provoking
we’re running out of arable land