cold brains

Beck

Cold Brains,
Unmoved,
Untouched,
Unglued
Alone at last
no thoughts,
no mind
to rot
behind
a trail of disasters
a final the curse
abandoned hearse
we ride disowned
corroded to the bone

the fields of green
are bent, obscene
i lay upon the gravel
a worm of hope
a hangman's rope
pulls me one way or the other

a final curse
abandoned hearse
we write this song
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 doesn't matter

a final the curse
abandoned hearst
we rock the salt
corroded to the bone