Turn the page as the world is dying, can dead tech keep you alive? Are the ashes interfering with your broadcast? Life's feeling a bit too rushed. Busy work for the dying masses, seems we were not built to last, skin burns and it peels disintegrates from the blast. This all we are, flesh machines left to rust, this is all we have tomorrow we are dust. The sky over jersey is burning colors so vivid. Do my eyes decieve, will I see angels if I believe, the plumes of ash appear as devils laughin' I cannot feel. This is all we are, flesh machines left to rust, this is all we have tomorrow we are dust.