"Q.E.D. Stylantis" lyrics
This heat burns our skins and bones
No one stares into the sun
We were rebel, we were great
Remember?
On fire
All day long
Fight on, neighbors!
Fight on, neighbors!
Fight on, neighbors!
Illuminate us?
Terminate us?
Illuminate us?
Terminate us?
Ahh, ahh
Some tell of an intrepid few who discovered a small crack in the ceiling. To get more dreams, they climbed where the parent shone through for a brief moment each day. At noon precisely, they gave their secret concerts for her. It was blinding to look through the hole, so they looked at each other instead. These unpublished symphonies took the form of a prayer. The lyrics were "Let us out." Unfortunately, it always seemed to be time to go back to work. Their recital was over so quick, they could never figure out whether the parent had heard them, let alone replied.
Truth be told, the parent did sometimes think she could hear something. When this little hole was pointed in her direction, she thought she could see tiny beings framed in the window. She could barely make out a sound, her own infernal rumbling being several million times louder. She couldn't understand a word of the lyrics, since sight and sound arrived fourteen years out of sync. But as any parent would, she ached to know if some remnant of her problem child might be trying to reconnect. Perhaps this faint sound was not music, but some murky attempt at communication. Wishful thinking, she wishfully thought. "I am probably alone." And yet something in her molten core compelled her once more to raise her rumbling voice in response, just in case...
No one stares into the sun
We were rebel, we were great
Remember?
On fire
All day long
Fight on, neighbors!
Fight on, neighbors!
Fight on, neighbors!
Illuminate us?
Terminate us?
Illuminate us?
Terminate us?
Ahh, ahh
Some tell of an intrepid few who discovered a small crack in the ceiling. To get more dreams, they climbed where the parent shone through for a brief moment each day. At noon precisely, they gave their secret concerts for her. It was blinding to look through the hole, so they looked at each other instead. These unpublished symphonies took the form of a prayer. The lyrics were "Let us out." Unfortunately, it always seemed to be time to go back to work. Their recital was over so quick, they could never figure out whether the parent had heard them, let alone replied.
Truth be told, the parent did sometimes think she could hear something. When this little hole was pointed in her direction, she thought she could see tiny beings framed in the window. She could barely make out a sound, her own infernal rumbling being several million times louder. She couldn't understand a word of the lyrics, since sight and sound arrived fourteen years out of sync. But as any parent would, she ached to know if some remnant of her problem child might be trying to reconnect. Perhaps this faint sound was not music, but some murky attempt at communication. Wishful thinking, she wishfully thought. "I am probably alone." And yet something in her molten core compelled her once more to raise her rumbling voice in response, just in case...
