No money bags or sacks of gold
I give thee now, I give thee now.
As years went by, as ages roll'd,
We changed somehow, we changed somehow.
The ole and faithful words we spoke –
The words of kings, the words of arts -
No sense, nor feeling will evoke
In our cold hearts, the settled hearts.
The tears our sires have shed with ease
Are ridiculed by their young sons:
The good machine replaces these
With nulls and ones, with nulls and ones.
The good ole word, the harmless blab
Are remnants to the modern age:
We speak the language of Matlab
To earn our wage, praiseworthy wage.
The glorious, the lofty phrase
Is for the fools, the wretched fools -
They have emerged, the modern ways:
The digit speaks, the digit rules.
And the computer reigns above
All men as one, all men as one,
And from their lives, the silly love
Is all but gone, is all but gone.
And at our sires, oh so na;ve,
We gladly sneer, we gladly sneer –
Their fate is nothing but to leave.
And ours, to cheer, forever cheer.