Текст: Edwin McCain. Misguided Roses. Darwin's Children.

Seven million years of progress handed down on silver wings
Of gossamer and protein still we haven't learned a thing
Are we caught up in our anger, locked up in our rage
In the opera of selection on this our earthly stage
And Charlie's spinning laughing, laughing in his grave
Laughing at the prophecy, the prophecy he gave
Can we spread our wings like angels, can we break out of the grind
Are we destined to be Darwin's children this time
The ribbons of our cigarettes vanish in the ai
rIn the glow of our great teacher we sit and blankly stare
And the sky could open up and what would we have to say
Something cute about burning out, better than fading away
And Charlie's spinning laughing, laughing in his grave
Laughing at the prophecy, the prophecy he gave
Can we spread our wings like angels, can we break out of the grind
Are we destined to be Darwin's children this time
On the wings of invention now we hurdle toward our fate
As sure as the sunset burns
Collective resignation, evolutionary fate
When will we ever learn
And Charlie's spinning laughing, laughing in his grave
Laughing at the prophecy, the prophecy he gave
Can we spread our wings like angels, can we break out of the grind
Are we destined to be Darwin's children this time