The New Pollution — Beck

She's got cigarette on each arm She's got the lily-white cavity crazes She's got a carburetor 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 camouflage 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