In the shadows of the night come the friends of fantasy dancing
forward toward
The dawn, wrapped in coats of vanity. in the closets in the home
hang the toasts
Of days gone by, breaking every haunted scheme confusing
thoughts with fantasy.
This is the modern world, this is the modern world, this is the
modern world.

In the backrooms where they wait, keeping time so patiently,
playing cards and
Casting lots, sit the last of judgement’s [all]? in their
confusion to deceive,
They miss the point so handily, filling every secret need. they
succeed perfectly.
This is the modern world, this is the modern world, this is the
modern world.