My Space

This new fangled technology has got me a might confused,
The language their all speaking, I cannot understand.
Somehow I get the feeling Mr. Webster is not amused,
To see his book of words face down, blushing on the stand.

There's PC's and a Macintosh They got Blackberries and Ipod's,
There's WIFI, Utube and cell phones taking pictures.
They're hobbled by technology and worship man made Gods,
Spewing out their gospel in tongues of digital scriptures.

There was a time when cowboy talk would raise a brow or two,
Our words now echo off the walls of cyberspace.
Now I've been around and seen a lot, but folks I'm telling you,
The dangest thing I ever saw is something thing called My Space.

It's a place where egos congregate to brag upon each other,
And be the things their not, but wish they were.
Everytime a story's told someone tells another,
'No harm in little white lies', but I ain't all that sure.

But then I got to thinking, if how I felt was right,
After all, I've got my space too.
You don't log on to get there, it has no host or site,
You don't log out to leave, because you really never do.

My space is an old log cabin, no plumbing, lights, or phone,
As far away from cyberspace as a man can get.
It's beneath a stand of ancient oaks and sits there all alone,
If there's something better, I ain't seen it yet.

It's a frost dusted spider web on a chilly Autumn morn,
The screech of a hawk with a rabbit in his sights.
The deafening hush of silence that follows a passing storm,
The company of a campfire on lonely star filled nights.

My Space is beckoning, hear it out, heed its request,
My Space is real as rain and free to one and all.
Let My Space surround you and feel its warm caress,
Can't you hear it calling? Can you hear it's timeless call?