Don’t tell me that history repeats itself
that nothing we do is new.
Don’t tell me that we are all just atoms
that our bodies are just molecules.
Don’t tell me that the stars are burnt out
that we only see old light.
Don’t tell me that our world has limits
that everything is finite.

Tell me that history repeats itself
that we’re all going to be okay.
Tell me that we are all just atoms
that all of us are made the same.
Tell me that the stars are burnt out
that the sky is a reminder of the past.
Tell me that our world has limits
that means they must be broken.