Electric age, data in the air
we breathe in fumes
analogue emotions do not function
circuits buz to make our music.
But never is there soul present.
Child of metal, never feeling warmth,
made of steel and has no heart.
Taught to ignore the spiritual,
to deny all expression. Only digital.
Computations sooth him.
Alone, he sits in a dark room.
Television flikkers. There is more to this life,
he thinks, then he was givin.
Into the world he walks, into the hot sun.
Shelter lies behind him, but his journey lies beyond.
Here he finds the remnants, trash of years passed.
An instrument discarded, with holes that make.
Resonation air waves to sing notes,
These things he has never seen before.
Ocarina, he names it, the word for discovery.
"Pinnoccio child, what is the toy that
you bring before the counsil of industry?
Positronic brain pathways prohibit the action of
making music. How do you present your defence?
Answer well, or it will be your last."
The bpy hears the words of his elders.
Dismay triggers activate, and panic functions switch on.
With his ocarina, he flees the city.
Counsils will not discourage him, for there is more
to this life. More than rules and regulations.
City living incorperated atmosphere shelter,
his home for so long. Turned its back on music
on its power.
Listen to the sounds of the planet. Overrun with machines.
Undertones of nature, for so long veiled.
The digital boy plays a song, filled with natures own melody.
forces act apon the mind, some magi unseen.
Metallic skin falls off. Armor coating and life preservation,
both unnecessary.Pinnoccio has freed himself with the
ballad of music. This is where all real boys are born.
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