The Medium

It’s a sick little world, a spent shell rusting
quick draw cell phones a billion elbows brushing
We’re all learning to fly our balsa wood minds
around the totem antenna and its halo of fire

It’s a sick little medium a social litmus test
a flawed artificial collective consciousness
We’re all thinking the same but our thoughts are inane
sired on guide wires through a predetermined fate

It’s a sick little family the furniture’s pointing
like flowers facing sunlight inexplicably joining
the room to the tube with the family between
slack jawed and naked in the tractor beam

And we’ve never been closer
Never been more together
No we’ve never been closer
Never been more together

It’s a sick frame of mind too much fabrication
cut, paste, recreate tailor situations
Replay yesterday on the tele-therapist
where someone just like you got the same complex

It’s a sick stretch of time nothing in the middle
just an endless jingle played on Nero’s fiddle
tape loop commercial break ad infinitum
and purgatory’s heaven for the deaf and the dumb

CHORUS

It’s a sick little world a spent shell rusting
quick draw cell phones a billion elbows brushing
we’re all learning to fly our balsa wood minds
around the totem antenna and its halo of fire

 

 

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