Doom Radio

The lowest common denominator
Has taken over
The whole show
As we turn the dial
On our Doom Radio

The wind cuts like razors
Through trees
We are left with barren
Desolate land
Only the artificial sunlight of big money
Beats down on necks
Till we are as dry
As the paths we follow

In perfect delusion
Oasis' spring forth
Sirens lulling us with simplistic rhythms
Moving our feet
Enchanted by the same tired out old beat
All the better
To impregnate the psyche
All the easier

It's in the vaguest words
We find meaning
The universal grandeur
Of black and white contours
The imagery manufactured
By plastic fingers and robotic sensibilities

Let them melt
Scorching heat under the lamps
They themselves constructed
Irony shall be the last song played
On our  Doom Radio