Lyrics
How could any conscientious soul
With a brain to call it's own
Give in to nesting instinct for a night
And say "Baby I'm so bored, why don't we create a life?
We're so bad at making friends I think that we should make our own."
We're hopelessly devoted to this old ideal
That distance and procreation's progress
It's maybe just the fear talking
I'm so terrified that we'll all age and we'll all die
That I don't know what I'd say if I was asked
"Dad it seems so futile, why should I do anything?"
I fear that I'd just shrug cause
I'm still asking the same question
