2nd movement: Morning Journey & Arrival
Popularity ยท Low
Listen
YouTube
0:00 / 0:00
Loading YouTube player...
Lyrics offset
Synced
Lyrics
There's no camera that can see the grey line
The overture for the coming dawn
That subtle shift that provokes the birdsong
The unseen spark that awakes the corn
So let the headlights on the road
Slicing through the morning murk
Be a metaphor for daybreak
Or be our allegory for work
There's no disk that can save our feelings
Of an early Tuesday's run into town
In the darkness on less than a good sleep
Faces set in an unseen frown
So let the rain under the wheels
Spell the end of what we see as the night
Be a metaphor for humdrum
Be an allegory of life
My son asked me once
"Dad? Do we see the same thing
When it's green?"
It's our metaphor for humdrum
It's our metaphor for life
We carry more weight than our muscles can bear
Our infrastructure looks familiar when viewed from the air
Because we are ants!
(Crawling, marching, crawling, marching)
We strip our carrion of the last scraps of their flesh
Move onto the next victim and start afresh
We are Ants!
We are Ants!
I wish we could see this
The heaving bird's eye view from any given height
Our ant hill lives below us
The crawling cars and snail trails of our human might
All the flyovers and tunnels that circle round the church
At the centre of our cities where we fight our way to work
Where cameras watch our progress on spaghetti-like ring roads
To business parks, call centres, and retail outlet nodes
Park, drive, late, phone, talk, push, bank, home, work
Car, park, drive, late, phone, talk, push, bank, home
Work, car, park, drive, late, phone, talk, push, bank
Home, work, car, park, home
It all just looks like bird shit!
Just look on Google Earth, the higher up you climb
And each day we traverse it
An hour from waking up we're driving thirty miles
All the people ripped from sleeping in their luxury-mobiles
On telephones, computers, all "getting a great deal"
To the car parks by the buildings where we hate away our days
To buy a little house, a TV and a package holiday
And all the blue plaques in all the buildings say
They're "Investors in Our Souls"
But I don't believe them, not 'til I see it
Until I put my finger in the holes
All the time that we give
To companies who call themselves our friends
All the time that we live
With their aims at heart, their intent
And then they tell us that we're important, or
"We're all parts of the whole"
I don't believe them, not 'til I see it
Until I put my finger in the holes
And then they tell us that we're important, or
"We're all part of the whole"
I don't believe them, not 'til I see it
Until I put my finger in the holes
I don't believe them, not 'til I see it
Until I put my finger in the holes
In the flickering light she sees Canadian trees
Log cabins, warm fires and smiles at the aprรจs-ski
And she punches in her name to the company mainframe
And logs into her pact with the Devil again
She is lost, she is floating
She's like us all, tied to the fabric we wear
She takes it as she finds
Lives for the good times
She's a product
She's a consumer
And then she's a girl
In the cubicle next door, it's time to meet the band
In a Rush T-shirt, pony tail, "2112" tattooed on his hands
He's a star through thick and thin
But he still gets that data in
A modern-day warrior, today's Tom Sawyer is a clerk
So let the tapping of the keys
The hub-bub of the office chat
Be a metaphor for disillusion
Be a metaphor for life
We all found out too late (that the contract's binding)
We could never appreciate
That the ants we saw as kids
And everything we did were just
Putting us on the right road
Putting our houses on our backs
With our mortgages in tow to fill the cracks
Between the stuff we can't provide
We try to cross the great divide
And hope we're on the right road
All the things we wanted and all the goals we craved
We were on the treadmill, we became the slaves
Did we get lucky? Or just a metaphor for life?
We all found out too late
No time to appreciate
We all found out too late
Oh, we all found out too late
All the things we wanted and all the goals we craved
We were on the treadmill, we became the slaves
Did we get lucky? Or just a metaphor for life?
We are ants!
All the flyovers and tunnels that circle round the church
At the centre of our cities where we fight our way to work
Where cameras watch our progress on spaghetti-like ring roads
To business parks, call centres and retail outlet nodes
And all the blue plaques in all the buildings
Say they're "Investors in Our Souls"
But I don't believe them, not 'til I see it
Until I put my finger in the holes
All the time that we give
To companies who call themselves our friends
All the time that we live with their aims at heart, their intent
And then they tell us that we're important, or
"We're all part of the whole"
I don't believe them, not 'til I see it
Until I put my finger in the holes