The inkpot is empty the milkman a dream
No need to wind the gramophone
Innovation has wiped clean,
The march of Orwell’s PC crumbles another zone
Everyone is fixed to the face of their phone
Dance bands just had to stop,
Everyone’s fingers are dancing over
Qwerty u-i-op.
The net has been cast
Far and wide across earth’s dish
Mesmerising all of the caught human fish,
No hook or by crook
No man with such power,
Performs its duty that makes you look.
An electronic giant
Who turned the first sod
Its master just has to be,
The power of almighty God.
The Inkpot Is Empty
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