Includes liner notes with little bit about each track, on a vinyl-style CD.
Includes unlimited streaming of Recurring Themes
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lyrics
I was never the kinda guy that stayed inside when it rained,
but I never took advantage of the sun either way.
I took my chances when I made plans;
It was out of my head when it was out of my hands.
That was long before everything changed:
Before the water was spoiled by the smog when it rained.
Now we're living safe and sound in cities underground
Where the water's purified by the time drips down.
I was killing time, while others settled in,
Made the best of it all and started over again.
There are people now who have only lived this way,
Who have never seen snow, let alone a cold day.
I could never adjust, but I could learn to adapt;
Once we were down, there was no going back.
As for the others, as far as I could tell,
They adapted so quickly, they adjusted quite well.
I guess for many it wasn’t that big of a change;
Life goes on and it's pretty much the same,
From when we went from home to work in underground ,
And the weekends were spent inside when it rained.
They say the way to stay on top of this
Is to wait it out under the Apocalypse
once I was wealthy, I just didn't have money,
I had my health, a love, a place in the country.
But then I moved to take this job
making more than I could spend, turning fields into parking lots.
My love left me before the times were at their worst,
But she always said that I left her first,
When I went in debt for the attention I didn't pay;
I tried to give her everything except the time of day.
I know that she is up there still
In one way or another however impossible.
Perhaps she turned back to dirt after her doom,
And where she took her last breath a flower will bloom.
Now they talk of the surface as if it's the moon,
Where it's cold, dark and wet and there's nothing but gloom.
Compared to here, I bet the air smells like perfume.
I'd rather die alone up there than to live in this tomb.
They say the way to stay on top of this
Is to wait it out under the Apocalypse
After a year we were cluttered in waste;
They were running out of ideas, we were running out of space.
So they took all this junk, and they took it to the stacks,
that runs to the surface and sends it all back.
When our time comes nobody knows
What they do to our bodies, or where the body goes.
You can flush me like a goldfish or stuff me in a bin,
Or take me to the stacks where I hope they throw me in,
Cause one of these days I'm gonna fake my own death;
Get thrown to the top and take my last breath.
And if I’m not dead by the time I get to the top,
A flower will grow where my body will stop.
Now in my dreams I'm sailing paper boats,
On little streams in the gutters of the road;
The road is a river, the sidewalk a coast.
Of all the things I miss, I miss the rain the most.
They say the way to stay on top of this
Is to wait it out under the Apocalypse
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