Oh the hymns of angels Suffer over the stench of the twenty-first century Nothing is black or white Or devoid of industry The face of monotony The litany of pop 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 I felt the sting of all its words I sang the song of elves and birds I saw you in my rearview shades And drank from pools of nighttime cafes 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 Plotting of the death of art
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Copy to Clipboard: Oh the hymns of angels Suffer over the stench of the twenty-first century Nothing is black or white Or devoid of industry The face of monotony The litany of pop 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 I felt the sting of all its words I sang the song of elves and birds I saw you in my rearview shades And drank from pools of nighttime cafes 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 Plotting of the death of art
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