Behind the flickering glow
Of the CRT in the living room
And the cold eyes of your
Average raving lunatic
Lies a silence vengeance
A quiet desperation
That somehow touches
Even the most sane of minds

And behind that wonderous, techno glow
The tentacles reach out for you
So soft, and baby, oh so sharp
So pleasant, so tantalizingly hellish

And behind the silent millisecond
Of the open air between spots
And within the thoughts of
The humble and the mighty
The lies a silent message
A quiet desperation
The somehow washes
Even the most sane of minds

So we huddle about our shrine
To technological superiority
We slip away, slip away
I slip away, slip away
And the messages are planted
In our brains

Eyes red with the fatigue
Of a thousand hours watching
I want to turn away
I want to turn away
I want to turn away