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 caf?'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
