T.V. Cemetery.

T.V. CEMETERY.
sneak

My monochrome denial.
So nineteen sixty nine.
Walking on the wild side.
Walking on sun-shine.
Spying from a satalite.
Staring in to space.
Wearing flowers in my hair,
Off my hippie face.
I've seen it all and paid the price.
Nothing comes for free.
My freedom of expression -
will be the death of me.
I'm space hopping and discotech.
I'm nineteen seventies.
I'm waiting for a miracle -
to sweep me off my knees.
I'm preaching from the corner.
Directing how you live.
I'm feeding on attention -
that you so freely give.
I'm George Orwell. I'm eighty four.
I'm only too aware,
that time is of the essence -
and love is in despair.
I'm ninety one, I am the bomb,
the face behind the mask.
The last decade of freedom,
should anybody ask!
I'm terrorising by default.
I'm programmed by the state.
Debugging the millennium,
'File Loading' - 'Fuckin' wait!'
I'm flying high on clear blue sky,
September zero one.
There are no flowers in my hair,
woodstock has been and gone.
I'm bowing out, my fuse removed.
They say I know too much.
Starved of electricity -
I'll soon be out of touch.
A castaway on cathode ray.
Protected from outside.
Blocking your reality.
Your future paralysed.

A dust blanket upon the screen -
that courted memories.
Unrequited signals -
bombing distant galaxies...

sneak.