[Intro] [Orbital archive] Another victory parade. Another memorial. Funny how they keep using The same marching band. The satellites keep recording. Nobody ever watches them. [Verse I] The Empire builds another monument To explain why yesterday was necessary. The rebellion prints another speech Promising tomorrow will be different. Both sides swear They're almost finished. The stars Have heard that before. [Pre-Chorus] Smoke rises. Flags change. Graves stay exactly where they are. History... Has terrible recycling habits. [Chorus] Satellite funeral. Orbiting names nobody reads. Another anthem. Another headline. Another generation Learning how to disappear. Satellite funeral. Signals fade, Static remains. Somebody call that progress. [Verse II] The rebellion argues over maps. The Empire argues over ownership. Meanwhile another moon Loses another skyline. Congratulations. Everyone was technically correct. [Dark Nova] Where's Yapper? Still hugging a bottle? Impressive commitment. One day he'll finish Whatever galaxy-sized drink He's negotiating with... Maybe then He'll remember He's supposed to have Legendary P-powers. [Verse III] Imagine the Empire's expression... One old philosopher Stumbling out of a cantina, Still smelling like fermented Bongobah, Looking at an armada... "...Nah." Then casually Pulling an impossible miracle Out of a pocket Full of bottle caps. I'd almost applaud. Almost. [Bridge] The Nearhuttias keep playing Like every chord Is another ship refusing to fall. Jebb keeps singing Like broken things Still deserve an audience. Maybe that's enough. Maybe music Outlives empires Better than monuments do. [Final Chorus] Satellite funeral. Let the wreckage drift. Empires rust. Rebellions change. Songs survive. If tomorrow finally arrives, Try not to waste it Holding another ceremony. [Outro] Transmission archived. Orbit remains stable. The stars... Look equally unimpressed.
