There's a television
There's a television
Speaking to me
There's a French girl
On my television
She's crying in the palm of my hand

We're moving mental
I read the paper, or just the photos
I rip one out in my hand
There's a massacre, across the ocean
I can see it in the palm of my hands

But on the ground floor
I'm losing signal, we lost connection
I left her crying, she was still crying
Now she's lying in my head

Public off the rail, shrapnel flying
Extra-explosives
For a riot, to the end

What am I good for?
I cannot see no-one
I'm violent, to the voice in my head
I don't want this planet

I phone my ex x12