Now is the Hour

Now is the hour for toppling tables
Where fat cat bureaucrats
Gobble brains that are bloated
With cathode ray fables

Now is the hour for cutting the cables
And spilling the silver blood,
The bad blood of reruns
That's spun for time without mind
And the sparkle and shine
Of the spirits trapped under the glass
Is the glistening luster of spit
The drivelling drool from the idiot grin
On the face of the fool

Now is the hour for splicing the feed
And tripping the switch
And loosing the deluge,
To which this bitching is only a prelude,
A preview, to school you:

The tube is being desanitized and exorcised,
So watch the sterile ghosts of Mary Tyler Moore and Alan Alda
Clean dissolving in the solvent of the static,
Squeaky meltaway into a field of filth,
And what you smell isn't smoke from the circuitboard;
It's the ordure, the manure,
The cess in the sewer,
The impure!

Rising up and splattering your eyes,
And working its way inward to say,
"Surprise, surprise, surprise!
Gomer doesn't live here anymore."

And doesn't that distress you, America,
With your thousand eyes turned inside to watch the dreams,
A thousand eyes with just one brain between,
A thousand eyes to cry and watch me
Take a crap on the face of Liberty
And broadcast it on national TV.