Turn It Off

Shapeless yellow snowflakes of gold,
Kicked up as the suited women go...
They're plodding acrost the metal road;
These silver sirens are going home.

The reporter wills her voice to say,
A little girl has been killed and raped.
She smiles before the commercial break,
Goes to put on her make-up and hairspray.

But the allegations never even change!
Everyday, it's the same, killer or rapist
His motivations unclear or unknown
So, we should reap the seeds he's just sown
(And just wait for the next one to show.)

No one ever asks why this keeps happening
Biological? Sociological? Well, come on,
Let's evolve. I'm sick of this no-questions-asked
Bureaucracy. So, please! Turn it off!