Theme For The Cross

The sky was open and gorgeous
The blue was a view but was tortured
Chem-trails poke holes through commuters
Swept sweat we went to find water
Tin can flew off to New York
The TV had said that you ought to
The same show protested the order
From fifty-foot cigs blowing smoke across the border
To men who'd drowned holding their daughters
And weren't allowed refuge from the horrors
The instruction was mutual borders
I ain't felt this world and its orbit
Haven't felt this world and its orbit
TV runs the show's creds and goes dead
Now it's time to climb bed and be well-slept

Sometimes I watch the TV in my head
Sometimes I watch the TV in my head