With all the cheap technology
For storing and playing music
In brain-deceiving perfection,
I crave the sound of radio,
A broadcast playing late at night,
Something classical, through the hiss
That gives the composition depth
The composer never meant to,
A reminder of the distance
That notations, mass-printed sheets,
And the decades of recordings,
Remasterings, digitizings
Joined forces to annihilate
And failed, leaving more emptiness
Than solace between song and us.