Scrawl on the Wall 046

The planet is spinning round and round, the hippos dancing to keep the time. The orbit of the world waxes and wanes. The turtles slowly move just the same.

Oh my, the horseshoe crabs still keep on breeding, those living fossils.

What in the world is all this for? The trees, and the bees, and the flowers and humans, just smiling and tip-toeing with grizzly bears.

There's a discordant ring in the air. Something is vaguely out of tune.

A blind man plays the violin. And a deaf man blows into a saxophone.

It's getting so damn loud in this room it's insane. And my record is skipping again.

I got it cheap and used in an old-school vintage vinyl shop. It's got some parakeets on the cover and the old lovely grooves in the black disc.

The tabletop record turning machine just tries to keep moving on.
But the needle just bounces and jumps in place.

I'm hearing the same thudding noise again, and I think the black disc is warped anyway

I lift the hand and move it along, and now I'm onto the next song.

It's a god-awful sad affair, a wailing sound of misery, recorded in some dank studio in 1974.

And time just keeps marching on. the planet spins and spins, and on the axis we all revolve, as the machine just tries to keep moving on till the grooves have all been used, and the vibrations are no more.