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