A war torn town
A snapping sound
Takes a child down
It was a stray bullet lottery
A reporter was there
With corresponding flare
Asking "Who would dare
Let a fight get so ugly?"

Then history beams home to me
Where I'm complacently watching TV
And in between a prodoucers copy
The truth, refuse to give me the juciest piece

Every channel shows me
A handsome clone
Spinning yarns that make me dizzy
Woven hand-me-downs
From the man on top
Meant to keep me cozy

All the bitter nights, and the neon guides
When I get to peek through their curtains
So why wonder when I could wrap their newspeak tight
Around my arms and smile to sleep?

Then history pumps through the factory
Polished to keep us disarmed to the teeth
And reality dies with our memories
Unless we capture it now with our ink and lenses
The one true black hole that plays romantics
Pirates sailing airwaves
The rich and bona fide sicofantics
Give me the courage
To toss their anchors in the Atlantic
And start telling our story!

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