Of Montreal - Forecast Fascist Future

Boredom murders the heart of our age while sanguinary creeps take the stage,
Boredom strangles the life from the printed page.



The moon was sagging in the sky as I held her face to mine,
All our thoughts were coming in so clear beyond the myopic mirror.
We were darting from the place where we just couldn't fit,
Far away from all the violence, safely flying in our own orbit.

Why do I always have to tell you -- forget about the prescient signs,
Forget about the life we knew.
May we never be stripped of anything we love,
May we grow so gentle, never go mental.
May we never go mental, may we always stay gentle.