|
Transfixated on the big blue screen |
|
its your window to the outside |
|
a melancholy dream |
|
a medium upon which you build reality |
|
this episodic currency |
|
that everybody needs |
|
somebodies delivery lulls you to sleep |
|
the man behind the weather map |
|
the editor in chief |
|
they control two worlds |
|
power and disease |
|
and you cannot supress you curiosity |
|
but see it's only entertainment |
|
superficial urgency |
|
posterboard mentality |
|
only entertainemnt |
|
tightly constrained |
|
the buzz that remains |
|
is the story of how we run our lives |
|
many our the people poor and suffering |
|
from the lack of coverage |
|
from the transmission beam |
|
and if it ever gets there |
|
you'll be offended too |
|
'cause you cannot distinguish |
|
chicanery from truth |
|
see it's only entertainment |
|
a superficial episode |
|
as life continues to unfold |
|
only entertainment |
|
controlled and copied |
|
they've planted the seed |
|
that sprouts into your picture of the world |
|
can't someone protect me (turn away, turn away) |
|
from this electron beam? |
|
hey you, Mr. FCC |
|
have you no advice for me? |
