Content Nausea

Content nausea, world war four

Seems like it all came too soon

Another carnage apparatus

Such a dissapointing doom

Abuse money, abuse drugs

Abuse body, abuse mind

People use such strange excuses

Always have done no clue why

Most folks think and some folks know

Likes the police when you don't let go

Of a memory, of a dream

Like an hometown better seen

On a screen or at a distance

Like the best without resistance

People clicked and people read

'Modern life' is what it said

Pretty pictures, pretty lives

I peered into once or twice

I'll go back but not today

It's nice to visit but it's hard to stay

In the grips of bad dimension

Too much data, too much tension

Too much plastic, too much glass

Like the police when beers are passed

My friend he won't leave his home

Says 'I am a bonfire of human bones'

I am a bonfire of human bones

I am a bonfire of human bones

And am I under some spell?

And do my thoughts belong to me?

Or just some slogan I ingested to save time?

This night is missing people

The singer had no-one

Hardly no-one, it had shapes, it had light

Some were flashing, most moved

Me, I couldn't look away

But still no-one came or left they just stayed

But they weren't there in the first place

Overpopulated by nothing, crowded by a sparseness

Guided by darkness, too much, not enough

Content, that's what you'd call it

An infant screaming in every room in your gut

Bets strum on an intention but best left unattended

How gathered the pixels in the dust of the digital age to our being

With what do I wash?

Put on some music

My friend walks the same path every day

Steep the stairwell, cognizance to coma

And know him best he can

An inconvenient reality

The consequential chore that unfolds in the naked sprint from screen to screen

Scrolling binary ghettos for escape for reminders

And this would be a good idea to free poets

From the back padding dungeons of content and comments

To free artists from empty and vulgar broadcasting ritual

For this year it became harder to be tender

Harder and harder to remember

Meeting a friend, writing a letter

Being lost, antique ritual

All lost to the ceremony of progress

Like the sensual organs removed

They're only weighing you down, you didn't need them

Ignore this part, it's an advertisement

These people are famous, I'd trust them

Protesters stayed home this time around

Some enlisted, some never heard the first shots

Well I've been north and I've been south

I've been west and I've been east

Been around long enough to know

Life's lived best when scrolling least

Just a broken piece of plastic

Just another new device

Just another nervous habit

One more thing you have to buy

Just one more thing to replace

One more way to block your face

Too much data, too much tension

Life's lived least when less is mentioned

Wasting dollars, wasting hours

Wasting talent with wasted power

No one says it but it's known

The more connected, the more alone

My prints stays at the home in the dark

Never walks up to the park

Always nauseous, always tired

I am a landmine, wrong supplier

I am a landmine