The pure eyed country honey   Speaks of the lost low-grade golden age   The stairwell cigarette smoke r   exhales in the space of his outcast face      And the pay phone corner talker, she smiles   With a cut so pure and wild   You used to know her in the eyes of the street lights   As the cool, over the shoulder witness of the night      Baby, here I am   Now, here I am   A folk terrorist without a sound   With a white trash waste land to shout about   With an antique voice to break it down   And to scream out about the future burn out      The lost eyed Willie Nelson   Gets up and puts his digital boots on   Speaking with this 6 AM glam dresser   She tells the secrets of how she puts her groove on   Know what she told me?      Saying my sweet baby   I'll loose my mind, lose my mind   there's many many reasons   Why I just wasn't made for these times.      Just like some modern billboard baby   saying I dig what you told me about the other side, but could you save me? (save me!)   Some post-ironic lady   On the wire of some sad fire   So fierce andso crazy   And the speech making man is so fried   As he obsessively checks his mic   The talking black cat to the fire chief he writes   As the suburbs ignite      Baby, here I am   Now, here I am   A folk terrorist without a sound   With a white trash waste land to shout about   With an antique voice to break it down   And to scream out about the future burn out      I said baby   I will lose my mind lose, my mind   there's many many reasons   Why I just wasn't made for these times.   for these times   for these times   oh baby for these times