Twisted, contorted, little thought,

Traveling on transistor radio,

Airwaves humming, people singing,

Media, mover of culture,

Controlling life and styles,

Singing to crying eyes,

Giving little thought to teach and chalk,

Making room for Cheech to talk,

Chong to break out the water pipe,

Draining, leeching the public,

While Momma’s cry,

Wasted, humiliated, left for broke,

Not a dime in pocket,

No pizza pie,

Everything bet on that last dime,

Now about to die,

Wandering, listening, to that authentic beat,

Bib, bop, hop, scotch,

Wait, scotch, such a sweet drink,

Sitting and chewing on chalk,

While stitching wounds,

Liquor antiseptic and pain killer,

Crying, looking in the mirror,

At the Spector,

Eyes wide shut, ears half open,

Brain muddled by the electronic buzz,

Coming from the valiant Radio,

Spreading its lies,

Spewing propaganda as the public writhes,

Under lie and truth tied into safe narrative,

Unknown masses lay in wait,

To fill another refugee camp,

Twisted little sisters shout wide and far,

The rumors of war,

Sin and fire, while most drink fire water,

Waiting, for the sky to fall,

Oh my, what a day,

Drink pour the wounds away,

As the world collapses around me,

Fill me with bravery,

Accept me in your glass prision,

Let me drain you of your fuel,

Your passion,

So I may stumble upon my forbidden treasure,

The Radio from the sky,

Filled to the brim with brimstoney fire.