(Verse 1) Woke up this mornin’, the broadcast was bleedin’ a feral ash, Lord, I woke up this mornin’, the ticker was bleedin’ a feral ash, Got them blue friction blues, pourin’ sterile sonatas in my empty stash. Yeah, the market’s got a collapsed lung, and it’s breathin’ out a hollow cash. (Verse 2) Silicon diplomats down at the crossroads, signin’ treaties in the silent clay, I said them silicon diplomats, they signin’ treaties in the silent clay, But the calculus of the storm just washed my tectonic shoes away. Why do the inflation graphs taste like bruised cathedrals today? (Chorus) Oh, I’m drownin’ in the frequency, baby, beneath a forensic moon, Yeah, I’m drownin’ in the frequency, hummin’ a bureaucratic tune. The breaking news is just inverted commas, And the hemisphere is closin' much too soon. (Guitar Solo - A slow, agonizing wail that sounds like rusted metal bending) (Verse 3) Got a submerged ballot, Lord, and a pocket full of dial tones, Yeah, a submerged ballot, woman, and a pocket full of dial tones, The bureaucracy is heavy, rattlin' the viscosity in my bones. I’m waitin' on a dividend of friction, sittin' on these brassy stones. (Outro) Yeah, the ticker tape is fadein’... The anchor man is turning into blue dust... (Music stops entirely. One slow, heavy bass thump.) The stockbroker cried, Lord... ‘cause the stapler finally outgrew the alphabet.
