Same old, same fold
—there is nothing new
under the sun
If we are to look
at the crannies and nooks
—we will see nothing but
Same old, same old
—there is nothing new
in the days of us
If we are to grasp
for the sense we have left
—we will see nothing but
Same old, same hold
—there is nothing new
inside our rotting corpses
If we are to turn
to the times we live in
—we will see nothing but
Same old, same gold
—there is nothing new
from the stories we have told
If we are to grow
from the emotions we keep
—we will say nothing but
Same old, same mold
—there is nothing new
as all the bells have tolled
Same old, same souls sold
—there is nothing new
under the sun to behold