Closing Time At The Distortion Factory

Closing Time At The Distortion Factory - Marathon

A war torn town

A snapping sound

Takes a child down

It was a stray bullet lottery

A reporter was there

With corresponding flare

Asking who would dare

Let a fight get so ugly

Then history beams home to me

Where I'm complacently watching tv

And in between a prodoucers copy

The truth

Refuse to give me the juciest piece

Every channel shows me

A handsome clone

Spinning yarns that make me dizzy

Woven hand me downs

From the man on top

Meant to keep me cozy

All the bitter nights

And the neon guides

When I get to peek through their curtains

So why wonder when

I could wrap their newspeak tight

Around my arms and smile to sleep

Then history pumps through the factory

Polished to keep us disarmed to the teeth

And reality dies with our memories

Unless we capture it now with our ink and lenses

The one true black hole that plays romantics

Pirates sailing airwaves

The rich and bona fide sicofantics

Give me the courage

To toss their anchors in the atlantic

And start telling our story