Please don’t turn on the TV   Or open the paper   ‘cause the chances of tragedy   are now part of the weather      I’ve got myself a notion   To keep me safe for a while   I think I’m gonna go hide myself   Behind hot water and tile      Every decade they say it’s getting worse   I don’t know if it’s true or a cynical curse   But it’s bearing down on me constantly    And pretty soon now, I think it’s gonna burst      I’m not coming out of the shower   It’s such a comfortable crutch   It’s a warm loving womb, and intoxicating tomb    And I don’t miss the outside world that much      Now all my harshest critics   Are screaming for murder   But I’m doing what we’ve done all along I’m just taking it one step further      I’ve always been a good American   I drank a lot of soda and I didn’t question   In whose deft hand the grenade was in   And now I feel someone is gonna pull the pin