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• Текст, перевод и аккорды “Heads”

• Our limits of the infinite Have never been defined A spirit lies in atrophy In a state to late to unwind Trophies on the back shelves Procreating all our race Ideals of our fantasies On which all things are based Collecting every prospect Run them through your tests With mannequin expressions They end up like the rest In glass booths they're wired With needles in their flesh They're pickled for posterity And eternally refreshed So link yourself to others Talk yourself to sleep It's all so superficial No use for you to weep... So place your trust in science For it has come so far Well, Necromancy lives forever Preserved within a jar...

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