Lyrics

I hate this city Reposition the phantom rigged in reflective tape Situated like a makeshift antenna Grinning like tinfoil We're losing reception (We're losing reception) We can't pick up the game (We can't pick up the game) I should be discontinued I'm a broadcasting embarrassment Hiss like the damned Decoding the transmitted pulse That dispatch from her lips I'm not receiving a sign That says I'm still here anymore Do you hear me? Am i coming through at all? Is any of this making sense? (Does this make this sense to you?) Is any of this making sense? (Does this make this sense to you?) Is any of this making sense to you? You've got a ghost on your hands A televisual image only partially clear Scrambled phantom (I wish we'd all just stop talking at once) Spitting and cursing (Spitting and cursing) From the scrapheap we're on You should've lost your cool You should've lost your cool