The Hysterical Machine
Bestows us dreams
Of unmeritorious honours
In tawdry scenes
On plasma screens
It foists itself upon us.

In its righteous light
We're a sorry sight,
Rather wallow in the feeling
Than claim the right
To stand and fight
A fate so unappealing.

Might it be a sign
When we start to find
Our pleasures tinged with sadness,
That the open mind
Could have found the line
Between sanity and madness?