Cut the Ambience

It must be dark, the black is coloured.
Just look at that fuzzy air.
The telly spews a final boom
Of light, not dark; But now it's dark.
Did I see my toes in the final blow?
Did I see little piggy Mister,
And My armpit tickle.

The room is hot with tubes and me
Night-time viewing -- five solid hours.
I laughed, no tears ran down my face.
I lavished my attention to no avail.
But now the radicals, they dance and sing.
No tune or rhythm, but just as right.

The voices they come as my mind it quiets.
My mind it quiets as it sees them come.
They echo and ramble, all jabbering things.
Some shout for attention. But none, it seems
None have anything that really needs said.

But SIMON! Wake Up! We're here for You!
Listen Listen!
-- You Heard Me Today
-- You could hear me tomorrow
And in pops a funny face
-- You heard me yesterday
And then it comes, in leaps and bounds
Not a rabid face I know
'I'll see you next year!'
A threat, it is. He shits me up.

I avoid that sort of silence now.
And especially, I avoid ambience.