The electronic pulse of the i phone,
With colors and hues and that ring tone,
And the child buried into the words of a text,
The devils work and that witches hex.
We no longer communicate face to face,
We are isolated members of the human race.
We have turned inward and have lost our edge,
We have become isolated from feeling and jumped over the ledge.
We profess our love and hate over the gizmo of electronic devises,
We swim into the sins of the devil with affairs and vices.
We text, we send messages galore,
We do not look at people that we use to adore.
But the solar flare shot the i pod to bits,
And now my mates we must communicate to each other in small sound bits.
Back to the old days when words meant more and facial looks had meaning,
Back to the old days to the time when a word gave a sense of your leaning.