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• Artiste: Marathon
• Titre: Closing Time At The Distortion Factory
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INCORRECT: avant la mauvaise ligne
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A war torn town A snapping sound Takes a child down It was a stray bullet lottery A reporter was there With corresponding flare Asking "Who would dare Let a fight get so ugly?" Then history beams home to me Where I'm complacently watching TV And in between a prodoucers copy The truth, refuse to give me the juciest piece Every channel shows me A handsome clone Spinning yarns that make me dizzy Woven hand-me-downs From the man on top Meant to keep me cozy All the bitter nights, and the neon guides When I get to peek through their curtains So why wonder when I could wrap their newspeak tight Around my arms and smile to sleep? Then history pumps 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 The one true black hole that plays romantics Pirates sailing airwaves The rich and bona fide sicofantics Give me the courage To toss their anchors in the Atlantic And start telling our story!