Lyrics:

If memory serves us then who owns the master
And how do we know who's projecting his reel
And is it like gruel or like quick drying plaster
Tell me how long till the paint starts to peel
Is it like Paramus or Apollo
Or an archer we don't know?
Though history repeats itself
And time's a crooked bow
Come on tell us something we don't know
Now who's the best boy and the casting director
And the editor splicing your face from the scene
It's all in the hands of a lazy projector
That forgetting embellishing
Lying machine

They say all good things must come to an end every day the night must fall
But how it all came to this I simply can't recall
Too many cooks in the kitchen
Oh how the mighty must fall
But I can't see the sense in us breaking up at all
And it's all in the hands of a lazy projector
That forgetting embellishing lying machine