Letterhead
The Screen
(Talking) Marcus, Marcus... what…get off the couch Marcus, what would you say if I asked you to come outside and play with me?
Um - I’d say be careful don’t shatter your bones it don’t matter there’s no chatter with sand in your throat/ is there cheddar? Is bigger better? The answer is YES, mister internetter (what’s for dinner Heather?)/ Then I collapse the whole table, crushin’ the Wicked Witch of the West except her calfs and her ankles/ I sing along to the TV, “Cats in the cradle” (and the silver spoon), my vocal cords are coaxial cables/ I play The Saint like Val Kilmer playin’ Simon Templar, ‘cept my head is made of giant letters (letterhead)/ it’s all an act but I work it, remind ‘em of course to rewind it before they have to return it/ and all this constant lecturing has got me thinkin’ that this job was meant for me, I’m watchin’ everything/ working non-stop relentlessly, throw me in a room with cameras and you got a documentary
As a child I would watch too much television, sometimes forgettin’ to blink/
I was distracted with an attractive image:
myself reflected in the screen
(reflected in the screen)/
babysitters, network channels,
sometime’s effective as they seem/
but I was distracted with an attractive image:
myself reflected in the screen
(reflected in the screen)
I’m like a cross between Jack from Jack in the Box and Jack from Lost, with just a tad of Locke/ but it’s no miracle that I walk, I just feel islandated and I’m lost…like belief in Santa Claus/ it’s like I warned you, “It’s ‘cuz of you that this happened”, drinkin’ orange juice with my tuna fish sandwich/ I had been sitting there too long on the couch like, “Maybe I should go outside away from the house flies”/ oops, I lost track of time of day, day dreamin’ about a tidal wave over, the Tyra Banks show while she provides a make-over, and get horribly disfigured by a fireplace poker/ I wish Phukett was filled with celebrities in 2004, the tsunami crowding resort towns with their corpses (ew) like, “Those aren’t Jelly Fish, they’re breast implants found on the shore”, gross
As a child I would watch too much television, sometimes forgettin’ to blink/
I was distracted with an attractive image:
myself reflected in the screen (reflected in the screen)/
babysitters, network channels,
sometime’s effective as they seem/
I’d sit there starin’ out the window
behind me only when it reflected in the screen
(reflected in the screen)
And I would ask it, “How much extra do you need? How much extra do you need? How much extra do you need? I stretch it till it’s see through, how much extra do you need from me?
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