The Natural Poverty of Our Feeble and Mortal Condition by Jute Gyte Lyrics

The past is dead
A corpse cannibalized by the present

To be regurgitated in fear and greed
In endless justification and apologetics

Human agency and its offshoots
The years grind jumbled and broken

Regret, nostalgia, grief-at-nothing
Grief and sleep, combined, enchaining

Care itself, in its very essence
Is permeated with nullity through and through