DropoutNever Enough

Landed in Toronto with two boxes and a plan, Gonna be the next great, the intrepid news-man. Professors quoting Woodward, talking 'bout the Golden Age, While I'm scrolling through a blog post on a different kind of page. They're teaching print formatting, they're preaching from the past, Like guys developing a photograph while the future's coming fast. They're sharpening their pencils for a world that's already dead, I got a head full of the internet... and a stomach full of dread. [Chorus] This is the sound of a dying machine, A lecture hall painted in institutional green. I am a film student in a digital scene, And the dream... the dream is obsolete. They talk of Life magazine, of mastheads and of might, I see a terminal illness bathed in fluorescent light. This whole damn industry is holding on by a thread, And every single textbook that we're assigned has not been read... By anyone who matters, by anyone who's real, They're teaching us a language that nobody's gonna feel. I'm training for a battle that was over years ago, The only thing they're building here's a terminal "I told you so." This is the sound of a dying machine, A lecture hall painted in institutional green. I am a film student in a digital scene, And the dream... the dream is obsolete. There is no future here. There is no future here. There is no...