Ghosts of past performances
Flicker through the screen
As thirty second tidbits
Of synthesized self-esteem
On display in the electric cascade
Of an endlessly rolling wheel.
Take a look, take a peak
At souls sold for attention.
Give a second, give a minute,
Place your time upon this altar.
But what do you expect to reap
Sacrificing your life to this machine
Where nothing's holy, nothing's sacred,
And nothing's what it seems?