Makes no difference in the grand scheme of Things,

But this Thing has a scheme,

Believe you me,

Just before,

I open my front door,

Conspiratorial chat,

Of this and that,

With the dark overlord.

Every night, this is my cradle,

Where I come to lay to rest,

All the virtues that make us best,

Like kindness, tolerance and forgiveness,

I myself would rather witness,

Z-list ghosts try to keep,

From fading into obscurity,

By eating invertebrates,

And arthropods,

This is our sacrifice to the gods:

Our fallen idols led to the altar,

Where if they crack or start to falter,

We can descend upon them like a plague,

And eat their Z-list bones away,

Until all that’s left is perfect hair,

Whitened teeth, and empty prayers,

Thanking Jesus for their trial,

They offer up their trained smile,

Believing every lie they tell,

Gambling that if there is a Hell,

They’ll avoid it with the timely leak,

Of the sex tape that they filmed that week.

So leave me be and let me sink,

Where I don’t ever have to think,

Through this gate, upholstered green,

Through the circuits behind the screen,

Where electrons paint reality,

And diodes conduct an orchestra,

Of horns that wail incessantly,

Hatred and hyperbole,

Half-truths dressed up in bow ties,

They’ll dress the truth down in disguise,

With a jacket of convenient lies,

And send him off into the desert,

Until the red sands make a rose of him.

And if the truth persists,

They’ll call the hounds,

To chase it through the trees,

Til it desists,

And collapses to its knees.

They’ll slit its wrists,

Fix its brakes,

Doorstep shooting,

Whatever it takes.

I don’t want to know this stuff,

I just want more glittery guff,

From the barrel that has no bottom,

Kardashians, karaoke and Dot Cotton,

Jungles, Islands and Big Brother,

Judging unfit teenage mothers,

Miley’s tongue and twerking rear,

Come and take away my fear,

That reality is passing by,

While satellites up in the sky,

Keep me well indoctrinated,

And evil acts are consecrated,

By prophets dressed in tidy suits,

With tidy hair and tidy boots,

So sincere when war is here,

Yet so aloof and disconnected,

They sleep at night unaffected,

By the suffering and pain they’ve wrought,

Don’t care if they get caught.

So bring me sunshine, oh, you circuit boards,

Distract me with the Brit Awards,

And when my funeral pyre’s alight,

Beneath this couch one lonely night,

Bring me unplanned pregnancy,

Vajazzles for us all to see,

Balearic island casualties,

On this countdown to eternity.