Computers

Computers, computers, computers wherever you turn.

Those chips are so loaded with hot information

You'd think they would burn.

Some of it's factual, actual,

Some of it's made of thin air.

Whatever gets in a computer

Stays there.

You can put almost anything in there that comes to your mind.

The programmer gets lost in the shuffle, the scuffle,

The dope stays behind.

Some of its factual, actual,

Some of it is double-faced.

Whatever gets in a computer

Isn't erased.

Our lives have been fed to computers, every thought, every dream,

Everything that we've bought that has rusted or busted

Or split at the seam,

Every up, every down,

Every howl, every glimmer of luck.

When something gets in a computer

It's stuck.

The stuff that we have in our heads is a different affair.

We've hoarded and sorted, amended and bended

And let in the air.

But computer banks grow like a cancer,

They can always produce a wrong answer

And they never are troubled with doubt.

And once you get in a computer

You never get out.