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