Cellular

There's a television

There's a television speaking to me

There's a French girl

On my television

She's crying in the palm of my hand

In moving metal

I read the paper, or just the photos

I rip one out with my hand

There's a massacre

Across the o-, across the o-

Across the ocean

I can see it in the palm of my hands

(Me hundo cada vez más hondo)

Below the ground floor

We're losing signal, we've lost connection

I left her dying, she was still crying

And now she's lying in my head

Above the third rail, shrapnel flying

Next door's wobbling

But I'm riding to the end

What am I good for? (What am I good for?)

I've got no signal

Abandoned to the voice in my head

I phone my ex

I phone my ex

I phone my ex

I phone my ex

I phone my ex

I phone my ex

I-

I phone my ex

I phone my ex

I phone my ex

I phone my ex

I phone my ex

I phone my ex

I-