Beck - The New Pollution
She’s got cigarette on each arm
She’s got the lily-white cavity crazes
She’s got a carborator tied to the moon
Pink eyes looking to the food of the ages
She’s alone in the new pollution
She’s alone in the new pollution
She’s got a hand on a wheel of pain
She can talk to the mangling strangers
She can sleep in a fiery bog
Throwing troubles to the dying embers
She’s alone in the new pollution
She’s alone in the new pollution
She’s alone in the new pollution
She’s alone in the new pollution
She’s got a paradise camoflauge
Like a whip-crack sending me shivers
She’s a boat through a strip-mine ocean
Riding low on the drunken rivers
She’s alone in the new pollution
She’s alone in the new pollution