Hit the Switch and Roll Over...

Eyes fixed on a blank screen,

Part of my ritual.

My daily staring contest with the pixel array.

Why don't I just go to sleep now?

Hit the switch and roll over,

Hit the switch, roll over.

I'm bored with the words running through me.

Tired with repetition and phonetics.

Ereathral, Ureathral. 

Passion to fashion,

Foresight is insight.

These things just wont be ignored, 

And even sleep is a sparse and temporary refrain

Where once it was the cure.

It's like an abandoned oil painting of some nameless woman,

The one with the creepy giggling grin,

On the side of the highway curve 

Where so many flew off the road

And were crushed to oblivion by the engine block as it makes it's hasty exit:

450 lbs.

Through the Dashboard,

95 mph.

And into the lap of the operator like a frightened kitten, 

Gone before they knew it.

You drive around the corner and it's looking right at you;

It is looking,

  Right at you.

A gallery of mannequins in rabbit suits,

(They're Looking Right At YOU)

Glassy Staring eye sockets four inches across each, 

Like a black boundlessness seen through the window From the predawn sidewalk.

Eye sockets designed for misdirection, 

To keep you from wondering where the man in the suit is really looking.

Eye sockets designed to omit the one great truth,

That the ground is where you choose to place your feet.

So you walk across the street,

And you try to forget that you saw anything. 

And you try to block it out.

Think of the unsettling sound of one million little tin foil spheres crushed together,

Think of white noise full blast,

The incessant and indifferent buzzing of an amplifier left on all night, 

You can't figure out why sleep is so hard to come by,

Until, 

You see the tiny red light winking at you out of the dark corner,

And then you know why.

And the whole time,

In your overactive mind, 

You decide that nostalgia is an investment.