Fahrenheit 452

Now, books made of pulp are amusing antiques; We people who buy them are all hopeless geeks. We don't need to waste any wood when instead We can access the Web whilst we lie there in bed. So, why are we still killing trees without end When all that a writer must do is press "send"? I don't understand lumber mills of destruction For products that could go instead for construction. Just why do we keep subsidizing those crooks By shelling out money for overpriced books? They know very well that they're robbing us blind, But the joke is on us 'cause we don't seem to mind. And we ruin our vision by squinting so much To the point where we might have to live just by touch. So why don't we just look for an alternate way To enjoy all those novels and not have to pay? A much better approach, if the truth's to be told, Is to listen to stories as in Days of Old. In our modern parlance it is called, "Audio", But don't ask how it works, 'cause I surely don't know. The lyeberry's a place where you borrow for free The recordings on tape, not to mention C.D. Their collections grow huge as the years roll on by, So you'll never run out 'til the day that you die.