Beck - New pollution

She's got a cigarette on each arm She's got the lily-white cavity crazes She's got a carborator tied to the moon Pink gods looking to the fruit 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 barn 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