The news tells all, that everything dies

The commercials all deceive, and market lies

The screams of the damned, that's all you can hear

And it does it's job, you're in a constant state of fear

Hour and hour upon hours of mental degradation

And now it's available in high definition

Turn

It

Off

Who sells their soul to a box?

You're in pain?

Or are you just insane?

The doctors, you say, have no diagnosis?

It seems obvious to me. It's self-induced hypnosis

A pregnant mother, impaled on a steeple

Give it a catchy name, and sell it to the people

Film soldiers, dying in their futile fight

We'll put it on prime time, every night

Because America just loves a hero

Especially when they die, and amount to zero

Turn

It

Off

Who sells their soul to a box?

You're in pain?

Or are you just insane?

The doctors, you say, have no diagnosis?

It seems obvious to me. It's self-induced hypnosis

See a dead son, and a crying father vow revenge

Feel it tug and pull, feel your heart twinge

And you let your children watch, unblinking

As they learn to live without thinking

And you love it, it's less you have to do

Remember that when your kids do it to you

Turn

It

Off

Who sells their soul to a box?

You're in pain?

Or are you just insane?

The doctors, you say, have no diagnosis?

It seems obvoius to me. It's self-induced hypnosis