Closing Time At The Distortion Factory - Marathon

A wartorn town

A snapping sound

Takes a child down

He wins the stray bullet lottery

Reporters there with corresponding flare

Asking «Who would dare let a fight get so ugly?»

Then his story beamed home to me Where I’m complacently watching TV

And in between, a producer’s carving

The truth to give me the juiciest piece

Every channel shows me a handsome close

Spinning yarns that make me dizzy

Woven hand-me-downs from the man on top

Meat to keep me cozy on those bitter nights

Insomniac eyes

When I dare to peep through their curtains

But why bother when I could wrap

Their newspeak tight 'round my arms

And smile to sleep

Then history pumped 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

That want truth like hopeless romantics

Pirates sailing airwaves

To ransack bottom-line synchophantics

Give me the cutlass and toss their anchors in the atlantic

And start telling our story