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Beck
Cold Brains
Unmoved,
Untouched,
Unglued
Alone at last
no thoughts,
no mind
to rot
behind
a trail of disaster
a final curse
abandoned hearse
we ride disowned
corroded to the bone
the fields of green
are bent, obscene
i lay upon the gravel
a worm of hope
a hangman's rope
pulls me one way or the other
a final curse
abandoned hearse
we write this song
corroded to the bone
a bird of song
is heard no longer
in the evacuated heavens
the drain is drawn
and drained and gone
and on and on, it doesn't matter
a final the curse
abandoned hearse
we write this song
corroded to the bone
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