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