Moving pictures on a silver screen
Living their lives in a 2D scene
I'm glued I'm glued, to the seat in this room
I'm reminded of my youth
I'm doomed, I'm doomed
Little birds are picking up the bread
I threw to them
On this rare occasion
Small orb weaver packing up her web
Her stomach fed
We've agreed on paths to tread
And where to lay her
We set up, boundaries,
Poisoning what we call enemies
There's a bounty on your kind
To your service we are blind