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 think
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, yeah!

Red wire: Right temple
Black wire: Left temple
Red wire: Right temple
Black wire: Left temple