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Sunday Prayin

de Bad Religion

In a quantity of light, you can search for all of your life
but it's finite.
From a sudden burst of sound, the recoil may never be found
but it is finite (finite but incalculable).

On and on, on and on, but impervious to calculation, on and on.
It's impervious to calculation.
Woah, just how far it goes, nobody knows.

In the peaceful warm embrace, the intention shows on your face,
but it's finite.
From the hate that spurs us on, to the meek and gullible pawn,
it is finite (finite but incalculable).

On and on, on and on, but impervious to calculation, on and on.
It's impervious to calculation. Woah just how far it goes...

Where the lightning sparked a flash, when precisely did it pass?
All delusions went away, as with all the shades of gray.
Now I'm left with faulty tools and a hazy set of rules
and a brand new day.

In the turbulent conscious stream,
the unbearable lightness of being, and it's finite.
From the universal mass constant matters coming to pass,
but it's finite.

On and on, on and on, but impervious to calculation, on and on.
It's impervious to calculation.
woah, just how far it goes, nobody knows.
No one knows, woah, no one knows, no one knows.

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