Wading through the
sludge of bad news
Whinging whirls on the wind
Chit chatting entilement
feeds the status quo a
swirling mass of gloomy gloop
Tornado town sucks up all the air
 
Blissful ignorance smiles down
But the soul always knows
A con job by the honey tones
of a desperado sales man
No more newspapers, tv panel discussion
or online updates
The radio can go to hell too.