From the recording Zeitgeist
An old man stumbles, with his cane in his hands
So the hourglass tightens, on our fragile grains of sand
Children rush about, machine displays replace their eyes
The skies above us grow dark, in some chemical reprise
It all seems so strange and unreal
No need to flush, it's just a sign of the times
So we live our lives, preparing our goodbyes
Attempting to sustain ourselves, enlighten and mystify
Still the pressures of our own making, simply multiply
Sometimes it seems beyond us, we keep on asking "why?"
You know, there is no answer here,
Those cool blank stares, are just a sign of the times.