Columns - Vicarious Living lyrics

This is an onslaught of the fake on fake TV. A parasite that eats its host. A rotting corpse that's soft and moist. A whole generation that's lost its voice. That's lost its voice, no real f**ing choice. Pathetic, our need to plug in. Nothing real and nothing to touch. Give me pain and give me torture, just to make things liven up. We grow old and find our exits. We grow old and find our exits. This is an onslaught of the fake on fake TV. A whole world enthralled with the people that they wanna be. To be.