Classic Arts Showcase

White glow of the TV set

Lights dancing on the screen

Voice-overs rise like minarets

Then fall diatonically

Should I answer a friend's distress call

Or should I go to sleep?

Would I, like the voices rise and fall,

What's it to me?

All those hours of wasted time

Have never crossed my mind

Here I am comfortable

In arm's reach of the black remote

Here I am comfortable

Surrounded by strings and bows

Let everyone else go

Nights on Kirkwood so serene

Far from the sirens and the screams

I could write or I could read

Go next door and smoke some weed

As long as I don't have to think

About who the hell's running this mess

Or what shit they're writing up in the Stone or NME

Go out and make a last call

Or sit here and do nothing at all

What's it to me?

All those hours of wasted time

Have never crossed my mind

Here I am comfortable

In arm's reach of the black remote

Here I am comfortable

All those clowns, what can they know?

Let everyone else go