Re-Run Sound Byte

I.

O come all ye faithful,

joyful, and triumphant.

O come ye to the Church

of the Mall of America.

Bring the family,

your checkbook,

and the power of pride.

Sing O Say Can You See,

while we sell yourself out.

Take a luxury cruise

to the American Dream,

where foreign wars are football games

Good and Evil play on Sundays.

The commercial says that

freedom equals business equals war,

because wisdom equals wealth

equals manifest destiny.

You'll dance 'round the fire

to the beating of drums,

breathe the smoke

from Anne Frank's diary,

and the works of George Orwell.

Exaltation comes from ignorance;

that's why it's never printed.

Why should you read about history?

The enlightened just relive it.

Follow the saints

to the pearly white gates.

Let yourself be imprisoned

with the jailed Prince of Peace.

We tried to tell Him that

love equals God equals money,

that apple pie and baseball

are the road to salvation.

A modern-day Messiah

should be more like John Wayne,

just like Hitler shared his moustache

with late, great Charlie Chaplin.

Be prepared when He comes

for your gold, myrrh, and frankincense,

or when you give Him your vote,

He might not give it back.

II.

Put your hand on the screen,

and be touched by the Savior,

who was sent by our sponsors

to wash away your sons.

He speaks softly on television,

and swings a great big stick,

atop the great hill of capital

that was once Capitol Hill.

He says it's blood you've been burning,

and flesh from tiny, ancient dead things;

you will run out of traffic jams

unless you bury more patriots.

He'll drill a hole down to Hell,

send an army charging down it,

to smite the Devil and the Infidel,

and chase them out your tailpipe.

You see, the righteous cowboy's enemies

are merely recycled allies--

who'd all be German-speaking communists,

but for Red, White, and Blue.

In the black-and-white West

we know not to trust savages.

Think of them as Indians

in a Lone Ranger re-run.

We'll attack from your living room

--please initial here and here--

load your rights into cannons,

and blow the Evil Ones to bits.

Stealth planes will bomb them

(pay-per-view)

with books we've stolen from your children.

We'll build a home where the brave

can choose to live free or die.

As you march off to battle,

Remember the Maine!

Or was it the Lusitania?

Or perhaps the Titanic?

It's always best to take note

of which crime you're avenging;

after the ticker-tape parade,

you'll need to know what it was.

III.

The Lord put cleanliness next to godliness;

why not hose down the bloodbath?

Cleanse the filth from your experience,

and send it swirling down the drain.

The minions of compassion

collect it at the bottom;

they bring it all to your deathbed,

but that part only lasts a minute--

for if you hold your breath long enough,

you'll see Heaven before you care,

just like you stop seeing people

when you never look too close.

You have to shrink the world down

until everything is yours

if you want to stop feeling guilty

about hoarding all the toys.

IV.

So wear the star-spangled blindfold.

Condemn those who suffer.

Make yourself see justice

when the poor kill the poor.

Just a little dose of numbness,

and you'll be flying above the funeral,

with the Truth of the Dark Ages

burning in your veins.

Tune in each night,

and sing songs of praise

to Paper Father,

Prodigal Son,

and Their Holy Crusade--

because morals are just slogans,

and reality is a sound byte,

and the universe is a two-dimensional,

pixelated screen.