Slow News Day

There's a martyr on the stand.
Come, let's hold his hand.
He calls us his brethren,
Like we're his true friends.
I've never met this man.
This is the last time that I can.

There's a schoolgirl with a solution,
To the religious institution.
She disproved God the way,
They differed night from day.
They burned her image on a fire,
Because she dared defy their sire.

A woman held a gun,
At the midday sun,
To a terrorist's heart.
It went off with a start.
And the man who'd killed thousands
Was gone in one simple errand.

A celebrity had a child;
And how the masses were riled!
The media went into conniptions;
Won’t leave the parents alone for a minute.
The baby wears lots of little pink clothes
Covered in so many lacy white bows.

And lo; the king fell off his throne,
From so far up he broke his bones.
They're looking for his replacement,
But can find none so complacent.
So he will rule them from his bed,
And do so until he is dead.

I called the police 'cause,
A murderer was in the house.
He handed me the paper.
On it was my picture.
"Girl Killed in Robbery".
The girl who died was me.

Families will weep.
And men go back to sleep.
They will all move on,
Even though we're gone.
Will we be on their mind?
Will our memory be left behind?

We won't be in the news,
For longer than they choose.
It will all go back to quiet,
About MySpace and new diets.
We will all begin to fade,
And give way to a slow news day.





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