Gadget Falling Star
Sorry to hear of it, Walkman,
Sorry last rites have been read,
I had no idea that your end was so near.
In fact, I assumed you were dead.
It's always like that with new-fangled
Appliances, isn't it, mate?
I mean, may God bless the wide world's VHS,
But it's well-past its last sell-by date.
The car window that you could roll down,
The fax machine parked by the phone:
You can see them around, but they're doomed, I'll be bound,
To a cruel fate none could condone.
Pong, Space Invaders and Pacman,
Are lodged in the dustbin of brain:
They made the heart race but new fads had their place
And all of them dropped down the drain.
Technology ages like clockwork
(The metaphor's weird, but ignore it):
Even the iPod's like a camera tripod –
And soon enough, both'll be for it.
So, farewell, and God speed, dear Sony:
I hope that they've set up a shrine,
For I'm drifting myself, and they've emptied my shelf:
Man's also a pisspoor design.
