Running low, low 
In the night 
The gears are turning 
Somewhere deep inside the fuel is burning 
From incubation to cremation our lives are controlled 
Plugged into our sockets, fed with preprocessed junk 
information 
Flying high on our virtual wings of air 
Alienation 
Ears shut, eyes shut, living a dream, so beautiful, so 
graceful, it can't be real 
Here enjoying the fruit of a dying tree 
Exploitation 
The end justifies the means 
Art for art 
Pleasure for pleasure 
Valves of survival are forgotten 
Death before inconvenience 
It's decadence 
I see it all around 
Its song fills my ears and eyes 
Waiting for the tides of time 
Swansong of western culture 
Beautiful, sad and cruel 
Fading out and dying out 
As we're running out of fuel