Lyrics:

I hate this city
Reposition the phantom rigged in reflective tape
Situated like a makeshift antenna
Grinning like tinfoil
We're losing reception (We're losing reception)
We can't pick up the game (We can't pick up the game)
I should be discontinued
I'm a broadcasting embarrassment
Hiss like the damned
Decoding the transmitted pulse
That dispatch from her lips
I'm not receiving a sign
That says I'm still here anymore
Do you hear me?
Am i coming through at all?
Is any of this making sense? (Does this make this sense to you?)
Is any of this making sense? (Does this make this sense to you?)
Is any of this making sense to you?
You've got a ghost on your hands
A televisual image only partially clear
Scrambled phantom (I wish we'd all just stop talking at once)
Spitting and cursing (Spitting and cursing)
From the scrapheap we're on
You should've lost your cool
You should've lost your cool