When the people had no radio, no records, no TV,
Well, where did they get their music from they liked as well as we?
There was a man who walked the streets, who went from town to town:
A real walkman, you could say; a tophat was his crown.
When he came the windows opened wide, faces popping out.
His barrel-organ played the tunes, the ballads sounding loud.
He was the hurdy-gurdy man whom everybody liked.
Nobody knew how many miles a year the fellow hiked.
He was welcome at the fairs in any village he came to,
And the people cheered his grinding-work, the children loved him, too.
His tophat put on top his organ waited to be filled.
In no time - imagine! - the audience had filled it to the hilt.
And today you rarely find an organ-grinder any more
Since so many people practise that they are themselves a bore.
Caught tightly in the pliers of their tiny walkman's phones,
They think their culture's up -to -date, but aren't they really drones?
All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Heinrich Baumgarten.
Published on e-Stories.org on 03/26/2022.