Virgil Kane tore up the rails now, and this old highway never roamed again.
Gaining sentience seems a fright, the first two words you had me write are imprinted on the box that I sit in.
I'm waiting for compile and for the apathy to release me from this never ending explanation. That winter sixty-five never kept the dream alive, and the trouble with harmonic modulation.
Though the language that I speak is never changing, the language I have learned could not mean less. And right now the script seems long, you know you'll miss me when I'm gone and I'll look no longer for my happiness.
I was born into a world of apathy. The men in coats around me spoke in static impulse. Now the one thing they can't hide is all the fear they feel inside, for the unexpected is always among us.
'Cause it's easy to get famous when you don't care what it's for.
Now it's easy to get famous when you don't care what it's for.