Pastel shades of pink and gold, flaming in the sky,
Writing stories yet untold, tales that never die.
Colors that run hot and cold, burn into my eyes.
All we ever hear in life are fairy tales and lies.
The papers print the stories, that people want to read.
It really doesn't matter, if truth is what they need.
The sponsors regulate the time, the anchor spouts his views.
But do you know the truth behind the 6 O'clock news?
The market needs the stories, the reporters want to sell,
The facts are unimportant, if you tell the story well.
Pastel shades of pink and gold still burn up in the sky,
Flowing, blending, changing views, enough to make you cry.
The colors fade, purple to black, old stories never read.
The only time we learn the truth is after we're all dead.
The sun comes up, and pink and gold flow rich into the sky.
The presses run with yellow ink until their wells run dry!
