You wake in the morning, but you're hard to find
A look in the mirror, what you've left behind
You go to your job, or you wander round
There's plenty of stuff, but nothing to be found
You're a late 20th century
Postmodern refugee
A late 20th century
Postmodern tragedy
There's nothing that'll move ya
There's plenty to be bought
There's no kind of mystery
There's no new thought
Tied up in your neurotic
Airhead celebrities that's all you got
You're a late 20th century
Postmodern refugee
A late 20th century
Postmodern tragedy
Separated from nature and earth
You foraged once now you're chained to a hearse
You disappeared in that checkout line
The price you paid was always just fine
You're a late 20th century
Postmodern refugee
A late 20th century
Postmodern tragedy
