Eleutheria

There are stings strung from a hand,

They extend to every point across this land.

And the ants keep moving fast,

They just blink and nod while miracles slip past.

There's a face, unearthly clean,

That stares up at me from every magazine.

Computer screens and concrete lines,

I think I might let my subscription slide.

There's this song stuck in my brain,

With the unrelenting pulse of the inane.

And the words go tra-la-la,

Tra-la-la-la tra-la-la-la la-da-da.

There's a tick, and there's a tock.

They pursue like Hare Krishnas while I walk.

Storefront signs broadcast the time,

I think I might let my subscription slide.

There are words hung in the sky,

That the crazy children hum while they walk by.

Human souls on sale for dimes,

In a game of chutes and ladders run by mimes.

There's this voice, it won't shut up.

Says I should spill my juice and overflow the cup.

You've got rules, and I've got mine.

I think I might let my subscription slide.

There are rules, and we all subscribe.

I think I'm gonna let my subscription slide.