On consolation of the game

Too much noise, too little deeds
Naught thoughts that matter,
Screen- bound eyes that watch
Wide-open mouths that chatter.
Empty lives without vision,
Deserted souls in despair,
Ignorance-clad minds,
Consoled by waves on air.
Their Weltanschauung shaped
By what they watch, not do,
Is this what tomorrow's fate
Plays out to fall through?
Most important, to say the least,
Is it on games they console,
To lead their fantasy  lives,
With neither a script nor a rôle!?