(What's So Funny 'Bout) White Genocide

Fuck Men's Warehouse, what's even the use of a new funeral suit these days
Stinging lights on, we lingered too long, they'll be happier when we're gone
Casseroles for bereaved families who just want us to leave so they can mutter and grieve
I regret all my talk of death, there's just so few of us left

Sketchy reports from pediatric wards in the cities of the north
They say a few base pairs out of place is all it takes to forfeit the whole race
All my friends are skeletons, their bones are shining through their skin
I'm thinking our extinction could be greatest, I never guessed we'd clean up our own mess

Hats and sunscreen can't shelter our unborn from the ultraviolet storm outside
Bunker up, son! Our numbers are so slight and the winter sky so bright
No one mourned the dinosaurs so why shed a tear for us and our fences and our lust?
One or two generations hence they'll make jokes at our expense

Don't yearn for what we could have been, we were never gentle men
When we're done running out of kin, someone better can begin
Strum the lyre, hum the hymn, oh, the pale fire is growing dim