Oh the hymns of angels
Suffer over the stench of the 21st century
Nothing is black or white
Or devoid of industry
The face of monotony
The litany of popular culture
I face the microphone and fumble in my pockets for a change
A break from the deranged world of (he seems to say "accountants and record executives" backwards)
Plotting out the death of art
And I went over the edge of the world
And felt the sting of all it's words
I sang the song of elves and birds
I saw you in my rear view shades
And drank from pools of night time café's
I stopped over just to finish up
I turned the knobs and called your bluff
I went over the edge of the world
I face the microphone and fumble in my pockets for a change
A break from the deranged world of (he seems to say "accountants and record exacutives" backwards)
Plotting out the death of art
