The cheesy shallow shows the TV pukes,
pretend to be the mirror of us all.
From how we wipe our butt, to Asian nukes,
we're skull infected from the time we crawl.
Our limits are more dear than our frontiers,
indeed, we consecrate the status quo.
Conformity distracts us from our fears
and masks us from a grace we'll never know.
An underground, as yet, has not appeared.
No mythic hero from the techno slum
Breaks free to shout, "the cable must be sheared".
Until that time, we're puppets of the scum.
Earth, sea and sky are cast in green and blue,
In wonder's trance, we touch and taste the True.