A lament for presence in the age of distraction
The Sacred Space We’ve Surrendered
This song emerged from complete revulsion. Not the polite kind of disapproval you express at dinner parties, but the visceral, bone-deep disgust that hits when you realise we’ve voluntarily handed over something precious and irreplaceable.
We’re addicted to dopamine crumbs from junk likes and reactions. We can’t bear alone time anymore (that sacred space where new ideas take root and shoot). We’re heading toward a world of average, and most of us are scrolling through it without looking up.
The Metaphors That Matter
“Life rushes past the window pane / Like countryside from a speeding train” captures our modern condition perfectly. We’re moving too fast to see what’s actually happening, staring down at screens instead of out at the world that’s disappearing while we’re distracted.
The image of gasping “like fish on a rich man’s deck” came to me watching people desperately refreshing their feeds, thrashing about in what I call the silicon net. We’re still breathing, hearts still beating, but we’re all wrecked. Presence dies from digital debt.
The Unexpected Turn
Everyone talks about screen addiction as if it’s inevitable, a natural consequence of technological progress. But what if we framed it honestly? “Young and pretty sell youth by the gram / We’re just like addicts, in their scam.” We wouldn’t tolerate drug dealers targeting our kids, yet we hand over our attention to algorithms designed to exploit our psychological vulnerabilities.
The bridge asks the question that keeps me awake: “Our babies need our eyes to learn / But we’re distracted, lost in churn.” We’re teaching them that screens come first, that flesh and blood has been “damn well cursed.” What happens to curiosity when there’s no space left for boredom to breed ideas?
The Complete Lyrics
[Verse 1]
Life rushes past the window pane
Like countryside from a speeding train
We don’t see what’s going by
We’re staring down with zombie eyes
[Verse 2]
Young and pretty sell youth by the gram
We’re just like addicts, in their scam
They get rich, we get empty
Time’s the dealer, never friendly
[Chorus]
Eyes up, heads up
Time don’t come around again
Eyes up, heads up
We’re drowning, in the shallow end
[Extended trumpet/brass solo]
[Short percussion solo]
[Verse 3]
We’re glued to our little screens
No time left for lifelong dreams
Use our phones for buying nothing
The world bleeds out, we keep on scrolling
[Verse 4]
We gasp like fish on a rich man’s deck
Hearts still beating but we’re all wrecked
Thrashing about in the silicon net
While presence dies from digital debt
[Chorus]
Eyes up, heads up
Time don’t come around again
Eyes up, heads up
We’re drowning, in the shallow end
[Bass and drums solo]
[Bridge]
Can we wake up, from this fever dream?
Or are we sleeping, through each scene?
Our babies need, our eyes to learn
But we’re distracted, lost in churn
We’re teaching them, that screens come first
And flesh and blood’s … been damn well cursed
[Screaming, frenzied brass solo]
[Verse 5]
We could stream Shakespeare, Kubrick gold
But we’re watching trash that leaves us cold
Five-inch screens steal what we need most
While life becomes a fading ghost
[Final Chorus]
Eyes up, heads up
Time don’t come around again
Eyes up, heads up
We’re drowning in the shallow end
[Outro – spoken]
We gotta put the fucking thing down
Lock it away, break free now
We’re stuck in night, missing every day
While life’s light just keeps fading away
Eyes up, heads up
We’re drowning in the shallow end
[Repeated multiple times]
The Technology We Actually Need
The song’s musical structure mirrors its message. Those instrumental solos (extended trumpet, bass and drums, screaming brass) create space for actual listening. No words, no information, just sonic experience that demands presence. That’s what we’ve lost – the ability to sit with sound, thought, or silence without reaching for distraction.
The spoken outro breaks the fourth wall completely. Sometimes you have to stop singing about the problem and just say it plain: we gotta put the fucking thing down. Lock it away. Break free now.
The Choice We’re Not Making
This isn’t technophobia or nostalgic romanticism. It’s temporal anxiety made audible. Time don’t come around again, and we’re drowning in the shallow end while life’s light keeps fading away. The technology exists to stream Shakespeare and Kubrick gold, but we choose trash that leaves us cold.
The real tragedy isn’t what the screens are doing to us. It’s what we’re not doing while we’re staring at them. We’re missing every day while stuck in perpetual night, teaching our children that presence is optional and attention is for sale.
This song is my lament for the sacred space of solitude we’ve traded for the illusion of constant connection. Because in the end, curiosity needs quiet to flourish, and ideas need boredom to take root.
Eyes up. Heads up. Time to choose what deserves our gaze.
Eyes Up, Heads Up is part of the Steve Davis & The Virtualosos collection, songs that challenge what we’re supposed to accept without question.