Position the phantom rigged in reflective tape
Situated like a makeshift antenna, grinning like tinfoil
We're losing reception, we can't pick up the game
I should be discontinued
I am a broadcasting embarrassment
Hiss like the damned
Decoding the transmitted pulse that dispatch from her lips
I am not receiving a sign that says I am still here anymore
Do you hear me?
Am I coming through at all?
Is any of this making sense?
You've got a ghost on your hands
A televisual image only partially clear
Scrambled phantom (I wish we'd all just stop talking at once)
Spitting and cursing from the scrapheap we're on
You should have lost your cool