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 mental 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 al fondo) Below the ground floor I'm 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? (Am I good for) I've got no signal Abandoned, to the voice in my head