Gold Rush by The Lunar Era Lyrics

A brain is never plural until it's forced from its bed
The drains have overflowed again
Break bread with our enemies
Poison the air that we breathe
The hands on the clock are pressing on aimlessly
But that makes no difference to me
No time, no age
No earth, no space
It's all been erased

As the tide is subsiding
Communication is dying
Seek the real care merchant
Bleeding in the margins
Of the low baptismal glow