Noise Machine

Garbage Robot rolls into the garage
From its day job transporting broken glass
Gets its voice box's motor spinning up
And begins squeaking out a tiny jam

It gets hot in the summertime
When it's hot, all the windows open up
Letting in the sound of the night
That the tenants intended to keep out

And to think, if they only heard
What the robot had going down beneath
If the landlord were so perturbed
They'd be switching its program to "delete"

Don't worry should noises come from below
The pipes in this building are decades old
And the whine of the vacuum tube TV
Underscores a domestic symphony
It lulls me to sleep

Are there traces of magic that remain
In the deepest December evening air?
Does the glow of the moonlight mean the same
When it has to compete for market share?

Did it think, when it switched the organ on
Of the ramifications wrought worldwide?
Was it gifted a prescient vision of
Distribution by Sony/EMI?

Garbage Robot serves up potent solute
All the kitsch in the world with half the truth
Something trivial zooms out to be profound
Right about at the time I shut it down