Red wire: right temple

Black wire: left temple

Red wire: right temple

Black wire: left temple

There are times I think eternal life ain't such a bad gig

Smoke all you want and see the planets

If and only if they find a way to cure the longing

The distant panic

Someday, I'm telling you

They'll make a memory machine

To wax our hearts to a blinding sheen

To wash away the grief

Someday, I'm telling you

They'll make a memory machine

To wax our hearts to a blinding sheen

To wash away the grief

There are folks that say to have a soul you've got to suffer

Well lately I've had my RDA of that

And call it fascist but I know that someday happy

Will be all that matters

Someday, I'm telling you

They'll make a memory machine

To wax our hearts to a blinding sheen

To wash away the grief

Someday, I'm telling you

They'll make a memory machine

To wax our hearts to a blinding sheen

To wash away the grief

Poetry, Aldous Huxley—yeah, yeah, yeah, it'll be a relief

If they can make machines to save us labor

Someday they'll do our hearts the very same favor

The wails of ruined lives brought to a halt

By the serene hum of computers in air-conditioned vaults

Red wire: right temple

Black wire: left temple

Red wire: right temple

Black wire: left temple