every time i die - emergency broadcast syndrome lyrics
i hate this city
reposition the phantom rigged, reflective tape
situated like a makeshift antenna, grinning like tinfoil
we’re losing reception, we can’t pick up the game
i should be discontinued, i am a broadcasting embarr-ssment
hiss like the d-mned
decoding the transmitted pulse that dispatch from her lips
i am not receiving a sign that says i am still here anymore
do you hear me? am i coming through at all?
is any of this making sense?
is any of this making sense?
is any of this making sense to you?
you’ve got a ghost on your hands
a televisual image only partially clear
(i wish we’d all just stop talking at once)
scrambled phantom
spitting and cursing from the scr-pheap we were on
you should have lost your cool
you should have lost your cool
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