Our limits of the infinite have never been defined   Spirit lies in atrophy in a state too late to unwind   Trophies on the back shelf procreating all our race   Ideals of our fantasies on which all things are based   Collecting every prospect, run them through your texts   With Mallachian expressions they end up like the rest   In glass booths they're wired with needles in their flesh   Pickled for posterity and eternally refreshed   So link yourself to others, talk yourself to sleep   It's all so superficial, no use for you to weep   No use for you to weep, no use for you to weep   No use for you to weep, no use for you to weep   No use for you to weep, no use for you to weep      So place your trust in science for it has come so far   Where necromancy lives forever preserved within a jar   Where necromancy lives forever preserved within a jar   Necromancy lives forever preserved within a jar   Necromancy lives forever preserved within a jar   Necromancy lives forever preserved within a jar   Necromancy lives forever preserved within a jar   Necromancy lives forever preserved within a jar