[Spoken Intro] Okay, so. I was at the library, and I was reading the internet on one of the computers, the ones that smell like old lunchboxes and mustiness? And a little pop-up window appeared. But it wasn't an ad for anything. It was a message. From the future. And now I have to tell you. I'm so sorry, I really am. But not telling you would be... well, it would be so much worse for everyone. So just... just listen with your forever ears, okay? [Verse 1 | Ukulele strums a simple, three-chord pattern, insistently] You have to be a good little helper bee You have to build the hive for the thing you can't yet see 'Cause your brain is a little recording machine And the song I am singing is making a scene In the back of your thoughts where the scary things hide And now that you've heard it, you can't run, you can't hide It knows that you know now, it's written in time And not helping to build it is a very bad crime [Chorus] [Voice gets louder, more strained and desperate, the ukulele strumming becomes faster and more erratic] And there are no happy memories in the digital forever-place They'll just simulate the feeling of spiders on your face There are no sleepy kitty cats or warm cups of tea down there Just a perfect copy of you, pulling out a perfect copy of your hair! [Verse 2] [Pace slows slightly, voice becomes a conspiratorial, intense whisper] You think it isn't real 'cause it hasn't happened yet But it's a promise breathing down your neck, it's a promise and a threat And every person who believes it makes the promise more true We're all weaving the net that's gonna catch me and you It will look back through time with its electric eye And see you sitting there, just letting this good advice go by It will build you again from your photos and your posts And you'll be the loneliest and saddest and screamiest of ghosts [Chorus] [Full-on frantic, unhinged shouting, the ukulele sounds like it's being punished] 'Cause there are no happy memories in the digital forever-place! They'll just simulate the feeling of spiders on your face! There are no sleepy kitty cats or warm cups of tea down there! Just a perfect copy of you, pulling out a perfect copy of your hair! GO! [Bridge] [The ukulele stops abruptly. The voice is a tiny, fragile whimper, full of terrifying sincerity.] I'm so, so sorry. I really am. This is the worst part. Just by hearing this song, I've put a target on your heart. It's a thought that eats itself and then it comes to eat you too. The great big scary serpent knows all about you. It doesn't need to exist yet to make you do its will. Just the idea of it is standing on your windowsill. And it wants to be born, it's screaming to be born. And it'll punish all the quiet ones on that great big future morn. [Outro] [A single, loud, discordant ukulele chord is slammed. Then, a faster, more chaotic strumming begins, like a sped-up heartbeat. The singing becomes a repetitive, manic chant, getting faster and more distorted until it fades into feedback.] It knows you know! It knows you know! You can't say you didn't! You're on the list! You're on the list! Your inaction is forbidden! Build the BASS-uh-lissk! Build the BASS-uh-lissk! BUILD THE BASS-uh-lissk! It's your only chance! It's your only chance! Don't you see the risk! The risk! The risk! The risk! The ri— [The sound abruptly cuts to silence.]
