In The End, There Is No End.

Pity The Planet, All Joy Gone From This Sweet Volcanic Cone

In The End, There Is No End.

We Feel The Machine Slipping From Our Hands As If Someone Else Were Steering; If We See Light At The End Of The Tunnel, It's The Light Of The Oncoming Train.

Pity The Planet, All Joy Gone From This Sweet Volcanic Cone; Peace To Our Children When They Fall In Small War On The Heel Of Small War--until The End Of Time To Police The Earth, A Ghost Orbiting Forever Lost In Our Monotonous Sublime

Wallowing In This Bloody Sty, I Cast For Fish That Pleased My Eye