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 foundYou're a late twentieth century
Post-modern refugee
A late twentieth century
Post-modern refugeeA late twentieth century
Post-modern refugee
A late twentieth century
Post-modern tragedyThere's nothing that'll move you
There's plenty to be bought
There's no kind of mystery
There's no new thoughtTied up in your neurotic knots
Airhead celebrities, that's all you gotYou're a late twentieth century
Post-modern refugee
A late twentieth century
Post-modern refugeeA late twentieth century
Post-modern refugee
A late twentieth century
Post-modern tragedySeparated from nature and earth
You foraged once, now you're chained to the hearse
You disappeared in the checkout line
The price you paid was always just fineYou're a late twentieth century
Post-modern refugee
A late twentieth century
Post-modern refugeeA late twentieth century
Post-modern refugee
A late twentieth century
Post-modern tragedy