hey richie, the 80's called and they want their spandex back.

here in this manufactured city we sleep safely inside the elastic walls or our suburbia. an ever-expanding kingdom produced by the assembly line. everyone here dreams of living but these dreams remain forgotten in the confines of our lonely beds. the bright sun, burning in the cloudless sky is courtesy of the weathermen hidden in their balloons high above. they forcast a downpour of eternal bliss. as the pills rain down, the sun melts our plastic landscape. the air we breath is toxic, yet we go on breathing just the same. this complaisant existence carries the weight of extinction. while the bombs fall we cheer for the curtain call. if we find this meaning in our minds then is it meaning at all? or just cold, lifeless doctrine?