A Lament to the Printing Press
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When will the need for the cruel machine end
When the metallic sharp razor has sliced our veins

How will we be able to function
When our minds are helplessly hooked
to the pulse of transmitter currents

Parsnip quietly replaced by cells of glass and memory chips
So throw away your antique printing press

Oh, how my spirit trembles and cries out to be reassured
That the outdated culture will not be destroyed

The crackling of the radio waves spoke to me
This morning in an overbearing tone

Announcing that in days to come
Our tears will be perfectly programmed
The smile and inaudibly slipped away with the past

All of these unsolicited emotions
Discarded with a simple click of a cold hard button
With instant gratification

So I ask
When will the need for the cruel machine stop
When the metallic sharp razor has sliced our veins