At the Gates
Cosmic Pessimist
[Verse 1]
There's a ghost that grows inside of us
Damaged in the making
And there's a hunt sprung from necessity
Elliptical and drowned
Where the moving quiet of our insomnia
Offers up each thought
There's a luminous field of grey inertia
And obsidian dreams
Burned all the way down
Arabesque ink wandering
Winds itself around our ovate dreams
We seem to speak only in the imprecise geometries
Of black volcanic sands
Huge, impossibly regular shapes
Of rutted charcoal rockshover above us
As if waiting

[Chorus]
We do not live
We are lived
Pessimism
The last refuge of hope

[Verse 2]
From a blurred horizon
Quiet black basalt pools
Bore into the rocks
And our own patiently withering bones
Slumbering swells of a salt-borne amnesia
Course through our fibrous limbs
Scorched, wandering
Brine secretes from every pore
The luminous point where logic becomes contemplation
Lost in thought, dreamless sleep, adrift in deep space
A black glow in the deepest sleepwalking seas
[Chorus]
We do not live
We are lived
Pessimism
The last refuge of hope

[Bridge]
Around you this night, a thousand million firefly anatomies
Breathe in and out in their slow burning, liturgical glow
Impersonal sadness, to become overgrown, like a ruin

[Chorus]
We do not live
We are lived
Pessimism
The last refuge of hope

We do not live
We are lived
Pessimism
The last refuge of hope

[Outro]
We do not live
We are lived
Cosmic pessimism
The last refuge of hope