death of the form our dreams would have attainedndeath of the will, desire and dismaynlike a nazi mith of red eternal youthn'till nothing is what you think ofnpop kills your soulnjust like everything else doesnwe fancied and we expected, we are all the samenand we all get so banal, and we all making the same talksn'bout years of collapsing we missunderstendnleaking down through my handsnpop kills your soul...as everything else has donenI'm seven years old, listen to the songnyou were a yeti whoman hairy fierce and lonenI 'member the rage your face disintegratednand the fear that I would not ehy! hate itnpop kills your soul...as everything else has done