Late Twentieth Century Boy

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 twentieth century

Post-modern refugee

A late twentieth century

Post-modern 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 knots

Airhead celebrities, that's all you got

You're a late twentieth century

Post-modern refugee

A late twentieth century

Post-modern tragedy

Separated 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 fine

You're a late twentieth century

Post-modern refugee

A late twentieth century

Post-modern tragedy