Ah vastness of cameras, bringer of breaking news,
super-high play of highlights, solitary hell,
Pocket rockets broadcasted, plastic meat dolls alive and puking,
clean-sparkled toilet from whom the miserable eats!
In you the actors can talk and sing and my soul flees from them:
The system has failed, the show must go down.
There’s a path designed for pedestrians
I see your role heading that way.
On every wall I see the smoke screen
and your noise will strike down upon me with great vengeance and furious close-ups.
It’s you, with your 60” plasma waist
where I end and reality starts getting hyper.
Ah the things I have to see to waste my days away
and the blue pill to swallow my evenings!
Thus I see dead couples texting in the park
ignoring each other, dating their own cellphones.