Beck - Cellphone's Dead

Strange ways coming today I put a dollar in my pocket And I threw it away Been a long time Since a federal dime Made a jukebox sound Like a mirror in my mind Control my worries Fix my thoughts Throw my hopes Like a juggernaut walks Now let-down souls Can't feel no rhythm Sorry entertainers Like aerobics victims Hybrid people Light a wooded matchstick Toxic fumes and the Burning plastic Beats are broken Bones are spastic Boombox talkin' With a southern accent Voodoo curses Bible tongues Voices comin' From the mangled lungs Give me some grits Some get-down shit Don't need a good reason To let anything rip Radio's cold Soul is infected One by one I'll knock you out God is alone Hardware defective One by one I'll knock you out Mr. Microphone making All the damage felt Like a laser manifesto Make a mannequin melt There's people phonin' in Like it's unlimited minutes Going through the motions Just to say that they did it Treadmill's running Underneath their feet So they feel like they're going somewhere But they're not So let's put boots On the warehouse floor Comin' to you Like a rope on a chainstore Throwing equipment From a moving van Grab a microphone Like a utility man Now fix the beat Now break the rest Make a kick drum sound Like an S.O.S. Get a tow-truck Cause it's after dark And the dance floor's full But everybody's double-parked! Cell phone's dead Lost in the desert One by one I'll knock you out Eye of the sun Is out of the socket One by one I'll knock you out One by one This shit is real... that's right Eye of the sun Eye of the sun Eye of the sun Ahhhhhhhhhh