9: televisio

Lights,
camera,
Siren.

Darkness-streetlights-neon signs drilled into sky
And then the redblueredblueredblue of the uniforms,
Oh, they speed as much as us. They like to trail,
We like to hear the rush like acid through our veins
(Hey, we need that hit again)
It roars against the asphalt and I can smell the sin
It smells like gasoline and desperation
Hear the copters loving the infrared thrill,
Until we step out of the vehicle,
Hands up, roll the tape,
The lenses out, they do record
And film us as they end our trek,
And we smile at the cameras.