The New Pollution - Beck

She’s got cigarette on each arm

She’s got the lily-white cavity crazes

She’s got a carburetor tied to the moon

Pink eyes looking to the food of the ages

She’s alone in the new pollution

She’s alone in the new pollution

She’s got a hand on a wheel of pain

She can talk to the mangling strangers

She can sleep in a fiery bog

Throwing troubles to the dying embers

She’s alone in the new pollution

She’s alone in the new pollution

She’s alone in the new pollution

She’s alone in the new pollution

She’s got a paradise camouflage

Like a whip-crack sending me shivers

She’s a boat through a strip-mine ocean

Riding low on the drunken rivers

She’s alone in the new pollution

She’s alone in the new pollution