She's Got Cigarette On Each Arm
She's Got The Lily-white Cavity Crazes
She's Got A Carborator Tied To The Moon
Pink Eyes Looking To The Food Of The Ages

She's Alone In The New Pollution

She's Got A Hand On A Wheel Of Pain
She Can Talk To The Mangling Strangers
She Can Sleep In A Fiery Bog
Throwing Troubles To The Dying Embers

She's Alone In The New Pollution

She's Got A Paradise Camoflauge
Like A Whip-crack Sending Me Shivers
She's A Boat Through A Strip-mine Ocean
Riding Low On The Drunken Rivers

She's Alone In The New Pollution