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The general populace leans in close
seeking comfort for the coming week.
A routine, verging on madness:
Flip on the switch and crank it loud,
the News at Six wishes to speak!

Scenes of tyrannical leaders
and wretched wars,
somehow amalgamated with
glittered pop stars galore.
Spoken by newscasters
in unwavering apathy.
Spoken by a people
treating both stories equally.

And still, we lean in close
with a perverse curiosity,
thinking: at any point they'll
give us their cure to fix the malady.
And still, we perk our ears,
knowing it in truth to be a scheme.
But somehow unable to pull away;
dimly wishing it to be only a dream.

Listening, only because,
we need authority to guide our ways.
So the News, however undeserving,
will receive all it's due praise.
Sitting calmly, and gratefully 
simply out of duty, likened as to sheep:
it is not our place, to raise our voice in protest.
Not even the slightest peep!

And lo, we are a public,
adding oil to the ceaseless wheel.
By watching the News at Six
as the minutes softly tick
away all of our thoughts still in store.

The mantra of the public,
equipped with hearts too far away to feel:
They're just actors in a play
with a set of lines to say -
It is simply that and nothing more.

This is how distance
deceives us.
Confusing paradise
for perilous.

A vast citizenry across this our land
fondly believing that we understand,
but we know almost nothing.
They'll talk about latest dance crazes,
and buzzworthy songs. They'll talk about
it all the day long until it sounds like SOMEthing.

While life as we know it is on the brink.
While we're singing in a boat about to sink.

The mantra of the public
in our little box upon the hill:
I'm safe and I'm sound
with nothing to fear.

The mantra of the public,
while attempting to keep our hearts still:
Nothing as horrid as that
could ever happen here.
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