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    "Remote Control"genre: Spiritual Blues
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    If we stand still, we die. Only through continual renewal do we grow, and the enemy of this growth is the TVs Remote Control. An acoustic ballad, blue in colour, angry in tone.
    CD: Songs from the Middle Ages
    Credits: gpwayne

    Story Behind the Song
    It isn't just old people who collapse into an armchair to spend their days flicking through the channels. I do it myself, caught in the act, hopping from poisonous toadstool to toadstool, instead of getting up off my arse (as we say in England) and doing something. If we had to get up and cross the room every time we needed to escape some rubbish, we'd soon get fed up with it. As it is, the opiate of the masses has left us all in a waking coma induced by a Remote Control.

    Lyrics
    Activate the sensors
    Beam the infra-red
    Knowing that the signals
    Come from in your head
    Find the will to stay alive
    Don't be bought and sold
    A slave remains a slave
    Until a slave grows old
    A slave grows old

    Remote control
    Alienation
    Break down of verbal
    Communication
    Do you wonder who's finger
    Hovers forever
    Waiting to push
    Your remote control

    Machines were made to serve us
    Yet a monster rears its head
    Taking from the hand and mouth
    Its labour and its bread
    Chill, the wind of freedom
    A hunger dulled when fed
    With bellies full of frozen food
    We can chill out to the soaps instead

    Remote control...

    So dive into a vacuum
    Of images in glass
    Remotely sensed, remotely felt
    A catatonic farce
    You got no blood circulating
    No experiences read
    If you don't take up a challenge
    You are as good as dead
    As good as dead…

    Remote control
    Alienation
    Break down of verbal
    Communication
    Do you wonder who's finger
    Hovers forever
    Waiting to push
    Your remote control

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