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

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 change

A break from the deranged world of

Plotting out the death of art