A pocket watch tick tocks in his lapel.
The days of printing presses and the wall crank telephone,
Are now only a story that we tell.
The sound of music boxes lilting through an open door,
a gramophone accompanies a waltz.
The tinkering of typewriters goes on and off in time.
A small mistake provides a crashing halt.
Above we hear a zeppelin, our fortune to behold,
A steamboat bringing passengers ashore.
A flying machine filled with all the hopes of what's to come,
Contraptions, gizmos, gadgets and much more.
The simply made assembly line, step one, step two, step three,
The cotton gin providing auto-ease.
A revolution of machines is calling out to say,
Daguerreotypes take my picture please.
The weirdest things are yet to come from quacks and charlatans,
Just ask for Doc Macaura's Pulsocon,
But now we have a cure for all that ails our minds and hearts,
The miracle of modern medicine.
Goodbye to simple treasures like the shoe horn or the globe,
The silence yielded to technology.
A miracle of ever changing visions and designs,
A rapid innovative symphony.