Only the best can stay on display.
The newest, the shiniest, the most polished.
All the old models are put into boxes
And moved into dark rooms nobody visits
So they may fade into non-existence,
As they deserve.

What could ever be more beautiful
Than slowly fading away in the quiet?
In a dream so peaceful you begin to doubt
You were ever awake to begin with?
In a darkness that wraps you up forever,
As you deserve?

The new model is on display,
Where it is shined and beheld for a day,
Then taken down, for a speck of rust
Has already made its way inside.
There's no room for improvement
Without abandonment.

The newest model screams and it fights
As it opens its eyes in the display case -
But no matter the vehemence, there's no mercy
From that eventual cardboard embrace.
But aren't the boxes themselves mercy
From the display?

Boxes upon boxes they pile and they fade -
Or at the very least management
Would prefer if they did -
And all the while, out there a new model sits
Waiting for its preemptive expiration date.
Isn't it mercy to let them sit at all?
Isn't it mercy there's a display?

The best of the worst still lowers our sales -
We're lucky they're putting us on display at all -
So can we really blame management or PR
When they're simply making the best of our worsts?
Is there really more than mere hours on display
That we deserve?

So what if they break us and glue us back together?
So what if they replace whatever they see fit?
So what if the display's glass is warped and reflective?
Aren't we made just to silently suffer?
Isn't the best the only one that survives?

Only the best can stay on display.
The reformed, the renewed, the most sterile.
The old models are scrutinized and torn apart,
Salvaged for parts until they're nothing,
And then they're laid to rest in disgrace,
With but the right to finally rest,
As they deserve.