Cold Brains — Beck

Cold brains, unmoved, untouched, unglued

Alone at last

And no thoughts, no mind, to rot behind

A trail of disasters

A final curse

Abandoned hearse

We ride, disowned

Corroded to the bone

The fields of green are bent, obscene

I lay upon the gravel

And a worm of hope, a hangmans rope

Pulls me one way or the other

A final curse

Abandoned hearse

We write these songs

Corroded to the bone

A bird of song is heard no longer

In the evacuated heavens

The drain is drawn and drained and gone

And on and on, it doesnt matter

A final curse

Abandoned hearse

We ride, disowned

Corroded to the bone

A bird of song is heard no longer

In the evacuated heavens

The drain is drawn and drained and gone

And on and on, it doesnt matter