It started off like a regular tuesday
the newspaper had nothing much to say
hardly noticed anything peculiar in him
cigarette, cold coffee, first of all
six o clock, the american prodigal son
comin home to the same complete disaster again

well he seemed like the quiet type
nothing out of place
you know he looked kind of familiar
the man with the blurry face

clean cut to green suburban lawns 
you win and you see that something's wrong
but the home ain't broken, just the occupants
break down on the main production line
a small oversight in the machine design
another victim of built in obselence

well he seemed like the quiet type
nothing out of place
you know i think i remember him, 
the man with the blurry face

the man with the blurry face
he's got a future in television
in the land of infotainment, 
everyone can be a star

running late for a very early grave
we all sleep in the bed our parents made
the human element seems to be at fault again
five bodies in the local shopping mall
twenty bullets in the master bedroom wall
i don't think those stains are coming out, my friend

well he seemed like the quiet type
nothing out of place
you know i think i remember him, 
the man with the blurry face

the man with the blurry face
coming soon to your surveillance system
in the land of the prisoner and the home of the slave
the man with the blurry face
all he wanted was fifteen minutes
in the land of the loaded gun and the home of the grave