The Work of Idle Hands

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“Sweet Oblivion”

Now retreating

Into shame

Never to be believed again

And rightly so

Lying with every word

That stumbles off your tongue

To trip and fall from your lips

Hanging in the air

Condemned to die

In the ears of everyone

Sitting in front of the evening news

With the sound turned down

Waiting for the return of primetime

And sweet oblivion

Not caring that we never know

Exactly what we should

Smiling dumb and nodding

Looking like the bastard children

Of an idiot generation

That would sign their lives away

If it meant that they could feel

Like everything was fine

Nothing’s going on that we don’t know

Or at least

That we don’t want to know

Though we sit at home

Raising our unfortunate children

In blissful ignorance

Because everybody loves us

Everyone wants to be us

Peeking over into our backyards

Filled with envy

And on the off chance

That they might look up

From licking clean

The soles of our dirty feet

With a questioning gleam

In the corner of their eye

We can bomb them back to the Stone Age

Claiming immorality and possible threat

For we are never wrong

 

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