Evidence of Nearing Apocalypse: Justin Bieber Lyrics for Die In Your Arms

I have stumbled on evidence that the apocalypse is getting closer: Justin Bieber lyrics for Die In Your Arms. While there is a possibility that they’re written in some kind of code, thus obscuring a truly legitimate and worthwhile meaning, this is less likely than any of you simultaneously being the Queen of England and Dennis Rodman. I’m afraid these lyrics, chanted by millions of fans worldwide and tattooed, no doubt, on all their bodies, are what they are. We must take them at face value, which, in terms of money, is equivalent to 3,000 degrees below zero on the Kelvin Scale.

I will reproduce the lyrics for you below. If reading them causes your brain to implode, please shut your eyes at this point, scroll down about three inches to be safe, and then open your eyes again.

If I could die in your arms
I’m a make you believe, girl
That I wouldn’t mind, no
Eh, eh, eh, oh
Don’t stop baby, no (alright)
It’s what you do to me, yeah
Whoa, whoa, no, no, no, whoa, ooo-wooah
Baby, please don’t go, girl
No, no, no, no

(reluctantly taken from “Die In Your Arms” Believe album/2012)

After consulting with several academics (a cultural anthropologist, a linguistics professor, and three mental health experts), my analysts and I have concluded that the lyrics in question seem to be describing someone (Bieber, presumably) dialoguing with a female in the medical profession in a hospital setting who, for some reason, is withholding from Bieber a vital procedure or medication (a brain transplant, perhaps, or several gallons of morphine?). Bieber articulates a love-hate sentiment in regard to the treatment, as articulated by his initial declaration of “don’t stop baby,” which is later contradicted by the nuanced poetry of “no, no, no, no.” The entirety of Bieber’s heart-felt philosophical treatise, which certainly is stirring, in a porridge sort of way, can be summed up in his one key lyric: “ooo-wooah.

After running some highly complex algorithms on Bieber’s lyrics, my team of highly-skilled analysts have come to a conclusion. Their computations indicate that the level of intelligence revealed in his writing (and, just as importantly, it’s subsequent consumption by the masses) point to a nearing apocalypse as the universe frantically seeks to stifle any more such lyrical outbursts. We expect the world to thankfully end quite soon and put us all out of our misery.

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