Little Bits of Soul
Little babies babble on aluminium discs
Slivered off, it drifts through the ether
A sub-aural hiss.
The noise just noise deprived of this
Despite its intangible existence
Does it settle on old vinyl, an extra susurrus
Into valves and tubes like dust,
A sonic spirit incubus
Is it vagrant in the air, does it sustain
Through despair does it offer refrain
Or has it gone, and now the song will never be whole.
When the chips twist the pitch and harmonic bliss
Into bytes of 1 and 0 for manufactured hits
What happens to the little bits of soul
That’s what I fear to know