Media Mausoleum
Media Tabloid Vixen.
You seem to speak as if from the grave,
a crosswired rig of McGyverse psyops in a
disguised Ministry of Truth Museum Mausoleum.
Report with vampires of halitosis, ad nauseum.
In the dark depths of silence, where truth lies
concealed in sound-bites of sired waves,
video blade, blathe.
Gossips of falsehoods in shadows are revealed
with props in red hand.
Media, you wield power with a venomous tongue
and syphillised gland.
A serpent slithering, with deceitful songs sung with Satan's choir,
commercials brought to us by Lyre extract of Pfizer.
From screens ablaze with flashing lies
and ticker tape subliminal sparks setting fires.
To paper pages stained with compromise
and kerosene dreams.
You speak as if from the grave, a ghostly specter headlined headstone that reads
"Beware all ye that enter our trusts".
Haunting our minds with a twisted lecture,
brainwash or bust.
Your words twist and turn, a siren's call a whores fee.
Leading us astray, watching us fall
to service on our knees.
Beneath the chaos and the black noise you
fabricate then syndicate is the trampled truth altared and sacrificed upon your propaganda machine.
Lies a longing for an alternative source, a desire to set things straight from your ill gotten dis course of the insane.
We are rising up, breaking free from your chains,
"We the People" are more and more listening to
that still small voice that within us remains chaste.
For in the silence, in the stillness
we find time to discover your iconoclast idolatry broadcasts.
The power to reclaim our hearts and minds is still ours in our hands as we rip off your mask.
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