from a couch, in a living room

the stereo is eyeing me down
the records' a spinnin'
the records' a spinnin'
the records' a spinnin

the newspaper reads itself
the pages are turnin'
the pages are turnin'
the pages are turnin'

nothing is real
my world is make believe

the t.v. talks to me in my sleep
the channels are changin'
the channels are changin'
the channels are changin'

the clock is seated, propped like a judge
the hand are pointin'
the hand are pointin'
the hands are pointin;

when an eye is free of martyrs
and casualties are conversation starters

then nothing is real
i am what they tell me