“The Phone That Wouldn’t Die”
Original absurdist thrash-metal lyrics
[Verse 1]
Black glass sleeping on the nightstand,
Battery’s a tombstone, screen a frozen eye.
Then a tiny voice crawls out of the speaker:
“Limited-time offer—your doom is nigh!”
I check the cords, I check the ceiling,
A moth in the lampshade starts revealing
A coupon code in ancient flame—
The toaster whispers my username.
[Pre-Chorus]
Dead phone!
Still it sings!
From the crypt of silent things!
[Chorus]
Who’s in the pocket of the dead machine?
Who bought a banner for the midnight scream?
The moon wears headphones, the kettle knows—
A phantom ad for spectral nose-clothes!
No bars, no charge, no pulse, no light—
Still it’s selling me a haunted flight!
I pull the plug, I flee the room—
The app keeps playing from inside the broom!
[Verse 2]
A shadow in the router wears a paper crown,
It taps out doom on the pipes downtown.
My houseplants form a tribunal at three;
The fern says, “This targeted ad is for me.”
A neuralinked scarecrow conducts the fan,
The vacuum begins its grand master plan.
But the ghoul in the speaker just clears its throat:
“Buy two cursed razors, get one free coat!”
[Pre-Chorus]
Dead phone!
Still it sings!
Hear the jingle sprout its wings!
[Chorus]
Who’s in the pocket of the dead machine?
Who bought a banner for the midnight scream?
The moon wears headphones, the kettle knows—
A phantom ad for spectral nose-clothes!
No bars, no charge, no pulse, no light—
Still it’s selling me a haunted flight!
I pull the plug, I flee the room—
The app keeps playing from inside the broom!
[Bridge]
I bury the phone beneath the floor,
It rings from the grave with a discount roar.
I launch it skyward—it lands in my tea;
The teabag says, “Terms may apply.”
Then dawn cracks open the crypt of the night—
The screen is still black. The room is all right.
A final whisper, soft as a sigh:
“Your free trial ends… when the ravens fly.”
[Final Chorus]
Who’s in the pocket of the dead machine?
Who sold the darkness a sponsored dream?
The moon logs off, the kettle goes—
The broom keeps humming those spectral clothes!
No bars, no charge, no pulse, no light—
Yet I hear one last ad take flight:
“Turn on your phone for a brighter view”—
I unplug the broom. It’s humming too.