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