I sing the City Electric
here beneath the rug
amid the swept things
where everyone knows the true meaning of
in a handful of dust

(there is nothing to fear but handfuls of dust)

I sing the City Electric,
a lament for those who light and haul the world
but there's no light beneath this carpet
and too few trucks to haul away the dead

I am the Toxic Avenger,
freshly arrived from Tromaville;
I am Nukeface, come from Pennsylvania
to the Bayou

Oh, I could dredge up a few words
in honor of my fair City -
or, as it is better known: Schenectady

Still, I prefer the former
being one who understands the value of

even if you have yet to invent a washing machine
powerful enough to clean up the mess you made

even if, after all, we can't all walk away