Cellphone's Dead - Beck

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

Need to comb 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 talking

With a southern accent (Hi!)

Voodoo curses

Bible tongues

Voices coming

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 phoning 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

Coming 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 SOS

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 its socket

(One by one

I’ll knock you out)

This jam is real… that’s right

Eye of the sun

Eye of the sun

Eye of the sun

Ahhhhhhhhhh