Ear holes closed to the world
Hands thumping to the beat
All made in the same mould
How they enjoy this moronic feat!
You would feel they are not from womb
But batches generated by machines
Clones consigned to doom
Mechanical dolls in their teens!
It’s no yielding to passion
For music that touches the heart
Just an unquestioning submission to fashion
That once acquired defies to depart!
Their earpiece shuts out the world
And with it goes the fine art of hearing
Cursed and made in the same mould
They never know how sweetly the birds sing!