TV minds can scrub,
Thoughts in your head full blown,
Thoughts you thought your own,
Alas belong to you.
The flickering screen your mind does club,
You are alas not free,
As the flickering world you see,
Presents a form,
To which you must conform.
The few they form a club,
And if with them you disagree,
It's best if others this can't see,
As pretty faces you will name and shame,
And place on you for something blame.
The flickering screen, the mind's washtub,
Capitalist democracy is the way,
And all the game must play,
As any thought the way might flout,
The flickering screen will just wash out.
The way it has a hub,
As with six point something billion,
Moving towards a trillion,
There is no other way they say to function,
No room for any junction.
The shadow of Beelzebub,
Which wants most to do the drinking,
So just the few will do the thinking,
The few who will the way define,
And define what is a crime.
You can the truth not snub,
What other way might we go,
What other line can we toe?
The bosses say the way is straight ahead,
Until perhaps we all but them are dead.
---June 10, 2007---
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