Track every sign the body dares confess.
Though wise men know the terms of flesh too well,
we strive to live beyond the warranty of cells.

Rich men have plasma shipped in cryogenic chests,
their bloodwork graphed in elegant blue curves.
Track every sign the body dares confess.

Poor men avoid the doctor – more or less,
they hope the ache will leave before their rent is due.
Live, live beyond the warranty of cells.

Wild men, once drunk on danger and excess,
now keep count of steps and steam their greens.
Track every sign the body dares confess.

Tech men insist that death can be addressed
despite the flaws our genome still conceals.
Live, live beyond the warranty of cells.

Let science spit into the eye of the abyss;
let every scan return another stolen year.
Track every sign the body dares confess.
Live, live beyond the warranty of cells.