Dogs of desire gnawing at the mind,
Our throw-away societies are on the decline.
It's the same all over wherever I go
The TV and Cable are running the show.
2000 channels and what do you get?
A callous on ya finger and a pain in ya neck.
Surfing the airwaves, falling in the sea
And all we can think about is Me, Me, Me.
Bimbos and knockers prancing on the screen.
A fetish for the skin, it's a plastic surgeons dream.
Skin stretched tight over finely sculpted bones.
The plot never thickens, it's enough to make ya moan,
Sitting in a cafe in downtown Delhi,
Everything is tacky except the big old Telly.
Where once sat an Altar to the Goddess of Life
There now sits the demon screen churning out its strife.
Rich man, poor man, beggars on the street
Worshiping the silver screen, they're even eating meat.
Corruption is rampant wherever I go,
And the current vice for everyone is 90210.
So, where are we going? Where will it end?
The digital dream and the signal that it sends.
'I'll have a satellite dish and a murder on the side
And for sweets I'll have a rape topped with thick, faulty pride.'