BBC NEWSREADER

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When I lie in my bed at night
I try to banish from my mind,
And wash away
The items I have read that day:

The poison I have dripped
Into millions of ears,
Which is designed
To control your thoughts,
And worsen your fears,
And contaminate your lives
With the mental blight
Of the miserable news
We've concocted tonight;

There's been a train crash in Peru;
It has nothing to do with you,
And it's horrible to view,
So we'll bring you the pictures
As soon as we can
Of a dying man
And a weeping wife,
And a bloodstained boy
With his broken toy;

"You may find some of the pictures upsetting,"
We say, and we hope you do,
And that they traumatize you;
Why else will we show them?

There's been a fire in Casablanca
And on a German bus;
Someone has stabbed a child of 3;
Bur what's all that to do with us?

There's a mine disaster in Ukraine:
Look - you can see the pain,
And hear the women shrieking;
Then I knit my brow,
And shake my head,
And pretend I care about the dead;

But I have such dreams
When I go to bed,
That I wake up hearing screams,
And worry that I'm going insane,
Dwelling daily on such horrors;

I am a parasite in your brains too,
Devouring your hopes,
And poisoning you
With daily doses of despair,
The morbid sights,
The gloomy speculations,
To sap your will,
And make you ill,
And rip the fabric of your being.

It's becoming more that I can bear:
I read the so-called news,
Racked by guilt,
Ashamed of what I have to say;

My pretended calm is wilting:
I want to stop and shout,
And smash the heads
Of the smirking louts
Who write it,

Who pay themselves and me,
By levying a licence fee
On you, the victims of their cruelty;

For it is they who have the licence
To use your money
To demoralise you.

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Note: This poem is based on BBC news bulletins which contained the items mentioned.