Suburbia

Ar Eh Cee Aitch Ee Ell
You are not an angel
But you shine like the Seraphim

I kiss the Earth, kicking dirt as I run
A drop in the Caspian, a chorus of one

He called me on the phone
And he said from your home
Exactly what you gave to him

And you trip your tongue for his cellophane soul
A sugarsweet soul with a loss of control