Is there any hope for us, or are the rumors true?
Are we just the mulch and kindling that accrues?
Can we recover from this?

I've seen expressions in department stores
I've smelled regression wafting up from these shores
This is not a celebration of slipping through some crack
This is sloth and devastation and we're the resulting trash

Count all your fingers tonight
And believe what you find!
(I'm sick of making small talk in this rotting chowline)

Can we recover?
We cover our heads and run for the gutter!

Toby Keith's horses and Toby Keith's men
Finally put us all in our place
It's a wonderful hug when there's so much more to love
When there's steaks and hearts jammed in your face

This is the fucking slop line
And we're scratching with our hooves
How much of evolution must we finally disprove?

Count all your fingers tonight
I can't believe what we find
Can we recover?
We cover our heads and we run for the gutter!

Dear mother
I'm sorry
There was nowhere left to run
We fought and we fought until our bullets ran out
And they took us one by one
Dear mother
I'm sorry
We had just barely begun
This will be the last letter from your only son
Yeah, I do not believe!
Recover as one