What language shall I borrow to mourn the wasted years? The days are short and fewer now and many are the fears The house of endless mirrors rebound my miseries The calculated loop is thus It feeds thy fears to thee Upside down and backwards but familiar all the same These waters have been charted We've already forgot the dead navigator's name The new regime rolled in on the tanks the last one left And it weren't good vibes just a futile disguise and existential threats The comedians were crying and embraced like long lost brothers And turned into snakes and ate their tails in their tanks As they interviewed each other And the sycophants do stretches and acrobatic feats With logic measured against the treasure Promised them by kings Oh, you with bookshelf backgrounds behind your talking heads Is there a tome behind your lying eyes to explain away the dead What language shall I borrow to mourn the wasted years? The days are short and fewer now and many are the fears