Empty Cassette

Steeped in a peat bog for centuries, tattered and torn by ancient roots, fluttering and glistening under the harsh sun, a century of leaves and sharp seed pods coming and going on it.  Simple and familiar as a return to home.  The airy jingle breathes and rests.  Not a care in the world.

You might be eligible to steer a conversation.

You might be eligible to pay and redeem.

Would you like to receive compensation,

or just with the next click another dream?

As if you would want to try, with every request a lie.

Every remark demonstrates, your dull lack of faith

In a world that erodes, every bit of Resistance, 

you can try to scream, for berries and cream,

but no one will dare to listen or care

and no one will know, that your name was just Joe.