Pale white moon shines down on Colorado   Hide my dirty secrets down here in the shadows   Where the quaking Aspens tremble in the snow   Haul me up the hillside, hold me high and let me go      Let me fall right through my own roof like a meteorite   Let the world and all its wonders leave me to my toys tonight   And my ninety-six inch television screen   Let me die, let me die surrounded by machines      High winds knocked the power out last night   But I've got my own supply here, all my windows blaze with light   And the light spills through the windows to the empty plain below   Finds nothing but some trees and six fresh feet of snow      And I find a broadcast station that's signed off for the night   And the static floods the speakers in glorious black and white   On my ninety-six inch television screen   Let me die, let me die surrounded by machines