I burned a hundred helpless nights
inside these dark deserted spaces,
striking sparks from fertile places,
driven by a desperate dream
to push my visions through this screen
and light the lives of those I love.
I felt a hundred hopes ignite,
and saw each smothered from above.
I couldn't master this machine,
this riling writhing mesh of people,
straining tangled stakes and egos,
screaming down a steel track.
The one machine I couldn't hack!
My sparks were sooty specks so small,
so overdamped and underseen,
they barely burned at all.
Goodbye Apple, great machine.
Grind and polish, smooth and shine.
I couldn't catch your match with mine.
But I will always say I tried,
and if a hundred fires died,
perhaps the embers smolder on,
to be remembered
when I'm gone.