iSlave

I used to get by with the greatest of joy, with just a few bob and a phonebox to toy,

I'd dial my number and wait for the tone, then struggle to press home my penny alone,

You needed strong thumbs just to click in that penny, there's never a time when I didn't have any,

But over the years it was common to see, that in every phonebox someone used to pee,

What once was a joy became not such a smash,

when calling your number meant standing in slash,

And things do progress as these things tend to do, as there in the corner someone had to poo!

So all those old phoneboxes once painted red, were replaced with new ones all see through instead,

Alas though the novelty didn't last long, as once again there was that God awful pong,

And there in the corner sat winking at me, a turd did rejoice in its ocean of pee,

Nostalgia for phoneboxes soon took a flip, when mobiles meant phoneboxes binned in the skip,

And so look at me with my mobile so sweet, back then when an apple was something to eat,

Consigned to the bin was the foulness of old, I pulled out my mobile and tapped in my code,

With battery life that was measured in minutes, I needed a rucksack to carry it in it,

But now we are graced with our smartphones and phabs, our iPhones and Sony's and Galaxy Tabs,

And striding along with my iPhone Six Plus, with all the world in it I wait for my bus,

I'm loaded with apps and the flashiest widgets, that clamour for banknotes as awkward I fidget,

This demon I grasp cost me half a months pay, and when it will end I regret I can't say,

As I labour onwards I work for my phone, and when we're at home we all sit on our own,

Enraptured and trapped in a vacuum of tech, I've just had enough and I'm up to my neck,

I'm constantly charging and recharging it, and wasting away as sun starts to dip,

A slave I've become and there ain't a way out, if you've found an exit, please give me a shout.