It's the cussedest land that I know,
From the flickering pixels that screen it
To the deep deathlike valleys below.
Some say God was tired when he made it;
Some say it's a land we should shun;
Maybe; but there's some as would trade it
For no land on earth - and I'm one.
You want to be 'in' (damned good reason);
You feel like an exile at first;
You hate it like hell for a season,
And then you are worse than the worst.
It grips you like some kind of sinning;
It twists you from foe to a friend;
They tell you it's only beginning;
You know that it will never end.
The Internet - oh, how I sought it;
I scrabbled and mucked like a slave.
Eudora or Netscape, I fought it;
I hurled my youth into a grave.
Surfing the net with no harness;
Into wilds where the lorelei call;
The freshness, the freedom, the fairness -
Oh God! how I'm stuck on it all.
There are sites where the authors are nameless,
And the hyperlinks run God knows where;
There are lives rendered erring and aimless,
And careers that hang by a hair;
There are phone bills that nobody reckons;
There are websites unpeopled and still;
There's a land - oh, it beckons and beckons;
It is time to go back - and I will.
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