These are the days of our lives.

The drip-drop splatter of time falling,
lunging across the void to crash upon our face,
the pouring rush, the scattered drops of drought,
these are the days of our lives.

The whistling rush of airfilled noises,
breaking incessantly upon the drums of our ears,
the garbled babble, the limpid sigh,
these are the days of our lives.

These are the days of the age of communication,
and praised are the ways to hurt ones mind, heart and soul.
For these are dripping droplets of electronic mindlessness,
and the rushing air of electronic fans.

These are the days of our lives.