The Seattle Star

When I look up to the sky
The Sunday Comics, a funny kind of yellow
I wake in the morning, tired still yawning
See the Comic underneath my pillow.

On the day the world ends
A bee circles a clover,
A fisherman mends a glimmering net.
Happy porpoises jump in the sea,
And the Sunday Comics are golden as they should be.

sometimes it seems it might be an adventure
to fall off the turnip truck again
to relive the Sunday Comics
when we were children and got our way
not because we were better but because we were afraid

Her brain’s been trained by a twenty-four inch remote
Sunday Comics a solution for all of our children
But her children don’t mean as much as the show, I mean
Watch her worship the screen and fiend