Trapped in a pocket-sized plastic prison
Suroounded by martyrs of musics past
Strummer passes the joint to Morrison, who smokes it til the last.
The man in the mirror, psychotic, looks at his reflection in the glass
A floppy haired Gabriel remarks "There'd be more space in one of these empty shotgun shells"!
As Jimi hits an earth shattering chord his throat swells.
Buckley drowns in a shallow river bed
Within this black cell cell all heroes are dead.
Because incarcerated in the 8GB plastic prison all are deceased.
Legends are no more, mono audio also.
In the kingdom of vinyls stereo and miniscule Mp3's are King.