Lambs to the Cosmic Slaughter

Morning sun, arms stretched down to the branches, pulled up by their own roots
Take a breath of the free air, all it's gonna cost you is your bruised and battered soul
You weren't using anyway
Take a look in the mirror, see the one looking back
It's getting hard to tell which one is reflected
Pop a technicolor pill to screw your head on right
Tie your shoes up tight, you're wrapped up in fluorescence
Spinin' round, spinin' round

Like a sacrificial lamb laid out on the altar
For a god who couldn't bother to show up for the slaughter

Every star is an eye in the all-seeing sky, so we blinded them with our clever little minds
On the seventh day, amazed by what we had made, the good lord said, it's Nietzsche who's dead
There are cities full of people dumber than the bricks and mortar holding up the buildings built by their fathers
And the gray apostles sit at their long tables, keep telling me it's turtles all the way down to the ground
Spinin' round, spinin' round

Like a sacrificial lamb laid out on the altar
For a god who couldn't bother to show up for the slaughter
And in a billion years, would it even have mattered
Reduced to atoms as the sun slowly shattered

Ozymandias winks, the waiter brings us a drink, so we sip bourbon at the bar
Plato and Aurelius, getting pretty serious, but what's the point of the repertoire
Spinoza threw the Virgin Mary into a volcano to appease the hungry ghosts
And teapots spin round Mars, twinkle like tiny stars while they hum the psalms with reverence
And grace

Like a sacrificial lamb laid out on the altar
For a god who couldn't bother to show up for the slaughter