I am talking to you!
My mind is made up in two!
You say that I've come to an end
I am a ghost fired by the market's hand
I see the sparks
City life spinning much too fast
Nothing to say about it
Don't think I'll talk about it
On Sundays, I don't want to answer calls
Nothing to say about it
Don't think I'll talk about it
Give me my income and give me some more
I see the dust
I see your soul at last
No longer young
Sparks and dust
I am cosmic junk
Nothing to say about it
Don't think I'll talk about it
On Sundays, I don't want to answer calls
Nothing to say about it
Don't think I'll talk about it
Give me my income and give me some more