Microphone - They Might Be Giants

I keep talking to the microphone

The microphone, the microphone

But it’s like talking to a wall of brick

It makes me sick, it makes me sick

And tired of trying to tell the microphone

It doesn’t seem to know

That it’s owned

It doesn’t know it’s owned

It doesn’t know

A voice is speaking from beyond the grave

From in a cave, beyond the grave

The turning wheels of a cassette machine

Will reenact the buried fact

The dog who hears it cannot understand

His master’s turned to sand

And he’s free

He doesn’t see he’s free

He doesn’t see