Mason cavils chill.

Morris-pikes are beside my griegos…

I do top.

Because Mister Unrebukable and Mason smooch reversibly…

O. I do transform.

“When I was your age,” said Grandfather Jack, “songs had lyrics that made sense. That...noise doesn’t have understandable phrases and the sounds don’t even do anything special with the music.” He looked repressingly at Grandma Josie who was tapping her foot to the bass beat.

“She asked me to bring it over,” replied his grandson, Thomas, defensively, “I don’t even like the band but she said she’d been banned from their website.” The two men, young and old, turned to look at their respective grandmother and wife.

“Josie, how did you get banned from a pop band’s website?” Grandfather Jack sounded not surprised but resigned.

“They’re not a pop band, dear,” she smiled back at him. “Techno-goth revision. It’s an important distinction. I just asked them to say hello to Cyrus for me and they got all funny about it. Locked me out of the site and had me ignored on social media in under half an hour. I’m hurt, because I thought Cyrus and I are friends, but I am impressed by their webmaster’s speed of response.”

“Who’s Cyrus?” Thomas looked confusedly between his grandparents.

“An old friend of ours,” his grandfather told him. “A techno poet. He’s been dead for forty years.”

“I told you he wasn’t dead,” Grandma Josie said dismissively. “Just underground. He wrote those words, sure as eggs are eggs, and morris-pikes were invented only three years ago.”

“Um,” Thomas said. “This guy’s been hiding out for forty years for some reason?” His grandparents looked at him and his grandmother nodded. “Are you entirely sure that it was a good idea to reach out to him in a public forum?” He looked at their expressions. “I mean why was he hiding out in the first place?”

“Oh, dear.” His grandmother began to look worried.