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 photo

I rip one out in my hand

There's a massacre, 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 surge, shrapnel flying

Next door's wobbling

But I'm riding to the end

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 phone my ex

I phone my ex

I phone my ex

I phone my ex

I phone my ex

I phone my ex