Texty: Desaparecidos. Mall Of America.

They say it's murder on your folk career
To make a rock record with the disappeared
We'll let the police helicopters
Pull stereos out of the lake
There's not an image that I must defend
There are no art forms now, just capitalism
So send the national guard
To the Mall of America
And they can dress dead bodies up in tight designer jeans
Diesel, Prada, it looks good
It looks good
It looks good
It looks good
Oh, it does

I'm gonna lie down with a common sound
I'm gonna bury my blues, so it's never found
I'm gonna learn to pay attention
To the television sets
And if my sadness needs a catalyst
I'll just uncover my eyes, so much stimulus
And at the shopping epicenter
I have an agoraphobic fit
So buy a fountain soda, put some sugar on my tongue
I'll wake up, write some songs with no soul
With no soul
With no soul