[Verse 1] Attenborough speaks, narrating my state, His voice dropping low as he seals up my fate. Observe the lone human locked down in its cave, Conserving its energy, riding the wave. A three-foot zone held for hours on end Is it pure giving up, or a instinct to defend? [Verse 2] The subject clicks on at a miserable hour, A flicker of hope with no actual power. A text is typed out, then erased from the screen, The courage cycle stuck in the machine. The voice in the background is waiting for a sign, Searching for a meaning that it's never going to find. [Chorus] And now, the quiet tragedy of the domestic sadness Fluorescent-lit and mostly tame, a monument to madness. They’ll call it a rough patch, a spell, or a phase, But the phase is a permanent fixture these days. We traded the wild for a ceiling and a floor, Forgetting what the panic was originally for. [Bridge] Cut out the music, kill the slow pan Ditch the apartment and focus on the man. Just show the part where the subject proceeds, Not out of want, but out of need [Chorus] And now, the quiet tragedy of the domestic sadness Fluorescent-lit and mostly tame, a monument to madness. They’ll call it a rough patch, a spell, or a phase, But the phase is a permanent fixture these days. We traded the wild for a ceiling and a floor, Forgetting what the panic was originally for.
