Texty: Mountain Goats, The. Two Thousand Seasons.

how have we come to be mere mirrors to annihilation?

whom do we aspire to reflect our people's death?

for whose entertainment shall we sing our agony?

one hopes that the destroyers aspiring to extinguish us

will suffer conciliatory remorse at the sight of their own fantastic success

the last imbecile that dreams such dreams is dead

killed by the saviors of his dreams



how have we come to be mere mirrors to annihilation?