Everywhere I go
I hear the sounds of hate
They're making me go psycho
I'm miles past irate

There's nothing I can do
I've tried to destroy them
It makes me start to cry
I just cannot enjoy them

The sounds permeate
Like echoes in a wheelbarrow
The wretched sounds of hate
The dog shouting "Yo quiero"

Well, that one went away
Or so the agency promised
But the man who's here to stay
Is Mister David Thomas

Tired, worn out jokes
And nauseating jingles
Irritating folks
Doing ads for Kraft Singles

And on the other station
Are loudmouth puppet socks
The only one salvation
Is the man from Jack in the Box.

Everywhere I go
I hear the sounds of hate
They're making me go psycho
I'm miles past irate

-eric "Isn't this what the Poetry Pool's for?" sleator
Sun 1 Apr A.D. 2001