Stereo
(Text by Maxime Heim)
Stereo, home Stereo. We talked a lot over the years. You taught me how to rhyme. I listened through your classes. Sometimes, I did not like what you had to say. Sometimes, I tried changing your voice. Sometimes, I hated you so much I shut you up, completely. Yet, you stayed there in my room. Stereo, oh Stereo. I wonder, what else do you know? You taught me how to rhyme, but I still can’t sing. Evil stereo, oh Stereo. You never told me where I should go. Good stereo, oh Stereo. What compliments are there still to throw? You puke your lyrics and spit some ads. I hate your voice, you make me sad. You turned me mad with electric vibrations, deafening—and I’m sure that makes you glad. The tiny people inside you, they speak, they scream, they cry and whisper, sometimes, I don’t understand you, sometimes, it’s not my language, sometimes, your kiss is bitter. Stereo, oh Stereo. You act smart yet you put up your dumb show. The ghosts of those long and short gone haunt your inside. They scream to me, soft lullabies of a person that never dies. Your vibrations speak to us, microscopic circuits running through snails. You must but can’t speak in motions oh so queer. Stereo, oh Stereo. I hate you, and you must know. When you can’t find your words all I hear is voltaic snow. Through your years, you had the opportunity to grow. I hate you so much, home Stereo.