Coming Down - Mixed

Many righteous years have passed since my holy baptism.
Now in the choir of a new faith, singing an old hymn: untruth.
From the temple of a child's neglect, thoughts dimming in the dark,
That vanished in the glow, and was paid for with my youth.

Television nation, don't turn that station.
No need for reason. Logic is treason.
Complacent nation, this is your salvation.
No need for exertion. Your god is coercion.

There was a time when my evils of will were great.
But deliverance came through His divine promise to bless.
Now that I've paid the monthly bill for my repentance,
My sins of intellect and imagination, I'll confess.

Outside my window I might still hear that child crying in pain.
I wonder, worry, and wish for a way that I might aid.
But I've been waiting all day for five minutes to prime time.
And tonight brings the first live coverage of the new crusade.

Television nation, don't turn that station.
Gone is the present, and gone is the past.
Rotting nation, this is your salvation.
Now faint is your breath. Your future is death.

Dark light in the cathode-ray tube, be my remote control.
I've tithed to you my love, my memories, and my mind.
You keep me safe from transition, contemplation, and change.
Now as this final act of faith, my soul to you, I have signed.

Your gentle flicker is as stunning as ever: hellish, clever.
It slowly burns my weak eyes like the warm radiation.
That inflicts with prophetic curses, and rains down upon,
the formerly living people of this once great nation.

Television nation, don't turn that station.
Darkness is your light, apathy, your blight.
Vacuous nation, this is your salvation.
Banish your dark light and run into the night!

Banish your dark light and run into the night!

His stereophonic voice and full-color eyes led my recline.
On that great night I was born again, awash in sacred hues.
I saw heaven on a vapid screen and redemption was found,
In the talk show, sports report, sitcom, and nightly news. see less
credits
released April 23, 2020