The television was bleeding again. It made great entertainment, but had to vie for supremacy of cop shows and reality shows where people are assholes to other people – and maybe some of them even get beaten up! This was at 5pm and I was having reheated tacos.
The TV kept bleeding, and then grew legs and walked towards me. Is your TV alive? Are you sure? Have you ever poked it with a stick? Or turned it off – or worse, keep it on but turn the sound on mute so you don’t have to listen to the “commentators” … what are those people for again? CNN alone seems to have tons of them kept in a backroom, ready to jerk off on camera or ramble on about nothing.
Anyway, while I was seeking shelter in my favorite strip club, I wrote this song about my TV, hoping to placate it so it would let me back in my own house (they key won’t work anymore – can TVs do that? I own it – it doesn’t own me! Too many robots controlling us, and with our permission)
Anyway, here’s what I came up with between lap dances …
Bleed to Lead
Me and my girl
Were sitting around talking
She said put on the TV
To hear some other squawking
On came blood and pain
The tightening screws
We thought: if nobody died
There’d be no news
If you wanna lead
You gotta bleed
Your sense of scandal
Can be manhandled
If you want the press
You gotta confess
You want the prime time
Give us some good crime
Super saturation of the synapses
Sanity comes and goes in lapses
Become scum to make your name
The audience undergoes slow brain drain
The dead are prettier than the pretty living
Christmas suicides in the spirit of giving
A hit and run is a lot of fun
In one hand a microphone, in the other a gun
Cops on the march, holding back the mob
Ten bullets to a switchblade is doin’ the job
Tase the victim as he bleeds on the strip
When the bullets run out, pop in another clip
People on the warpath
Lookin’ for a bloodbath
Load up the camera
Keep up the stamina
The collective rage
Plays on the airwaves
Nuclear family having dinner
Sees the killing cops as the winner
Censor sex
To outdo the hex
Balances and checks
Freedom of speech is next
Popular blood
Is the crowd’s cud
The cannibal chews
Bile becomes news
If nobody died there’d be no news
Without a voice, you can’t sing the blues
All of your sins is what you choose
For one to win, a million must lose