by Gord Sellar<\/p>\n
glittering of remote eyes
\nthe bars are one and two and three
\na walnut shell of infinite size
\nthe cell becomes a world for me<\/p>\n
digitally captured
\ntransmitted through the atmosphere
\nmicroradiation scars
\nthe webcast viewers’ gleeful cheer<\/p>\n
this is your life before the lens
\nthis is the way the old world ends
\nthis is the way we blur the border
\nthis is the way we keep things in order<\/p>\n
clipper chips buzz off away
\nwhile we’re imprisoned in prime time
\npeople reason reason away
\nand lo and behold, our ratings climb<\/p>\n
this is your life before the lens
\nthis is the way the old world ends
\nthis is the way we blur the border
\nthis is the way we keep things in order<\/p>\n
it comes like a virus,
\na secret kingdom consolidating,
\nmicroviewers and spook machines
\nconstantly preparing, evading, invading<\/p>\n
spreads like virus, spreads like language
\ninfiltrating, poisonou sight
\nstumble into the coming age
\nhaloed in flickering light<\/p>\n
Panopticon, you are everything
\nPanopticon, you endemic trick
\nPanopticon, you are everywhere
\nPanopticon, and we don’t care
\nthis is your life before the lens
\nthis is the way the old world ends
\nthis is the way we blur the border
\nthis is the way we keep things in order<\/p>\n
Another song written for my old band but which never ended up going beyond the melody-and-lyrics point, for reasons I can’t recall. By this point, it may well have been despairing of anything actually getting past that point. (I began to think of songwriting for that particular group a waste of time for me after a certain point, for reasons I won’t get into here.) <\/p>\n