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White glow of the TV set Lights dancing on the screen Voice-overs rise like minarets Then fall diatonically. Should I answer a friend's distress call Or should I go to sleep? Would I, like the voices rise and fall, What's it to me? All those hours of wasted time Have never passed my mind. Here I am comfortable In arm's reach of the black remote. Here I am comfortable Surrounded by stings and bows. Let everyone else go. Nights on Kirkwood so serene Far from the sirens and the screams I could write or I could read Go next door and smoke some weed As long as I don't have to think About who the hell's running this mess Or what shit they're writing up the Stone or NME Go out and make last call Letras de cancionesOr sit here and do nothing at all What's it to me? All those hours of wasted time Have never passed my mind. Here I am comfortable In arm's reach of the black remote. Here I am comfortable All those clowns, what can they know? Let everyone else go From Letras Mania