An Ode to the Personal Computers of Old
Let me take you back to a simpler age, an age that features plains of beige.
Between banks of galvanized steel, 16 gauge,
Where IDE cables, like rivers snaked along undaunted,
Upon which floppy drives happily freely and happily frolicked.
A place where, alone, amidst the hum of the hard drive, (boy oh boy)
You spin your trackball with gladness and joy,
And hit keys on the keyboard, sublime and slight.
Where Purple Parallel ports sun themselves in cold cathode light.
O how happy they are, how happy and bold
In their beige home of old,
How they grind and they fizz, unaware of their plight,
Unaware of the fate that the ray of Advancement lights.
We long for that age, where Fiery Wire resides,
Where a CRT hums happily by your side,
Where the RCA plugs and PS2 ports widely roam,
We long for that beautiful, beige painted home.
