The vagrant on that corner who is speaking to birds   Is as crazy as the commuters on their way from to work   Well, hey y'all, I'm gonna get apocalyptic   And I need it to be just so damn apocalyptic      We're all down to get down   Down, down to get down   If on our knees will be the lead   To the top of the food chain      Let the foxes dig holes in the stations   Ain't this such a grand new dark age?   Why shouldn't they believe that   Their home's just an Asbury Park?      In the opposing hand were bulky two inch thick   Overlapping pages of white paper   Whose flawless black print in a comparison   To our chewed nails was much fucking smaller      No one around here ever seems to notice   The mountains awaiting out east   But that carrot is within reach, that carrot is within reach   So we gotta get down, down just to get down   And we keep on tracking the beast      Do you hear the tune of a thousand trampled streets?   They sing me off to sleep   Where I am chased by stampeding machines   Only to awake to give into the chase all again and      Do you hear the tune of a thousand trampled streets?   They sing me off to sleep   Where I am chased by stampeding machines   Only to awake to give into the chase all again