Molly Lewis My Hope
The years are going by so fast it really is bewilderin'
And we'll be so-called "grown ups" and have mortgages
and children
I hope we all gain worldliness, and wisdom, maturity
But I hope most of all that MySpace falls into
obscurity
I hope our profiles all go dead, entombed in distant
servers
A monument of your youth, although lacking its
observers
Your page will be an empty shell, when no one is behind
it
I hope your MySpace stays forever - and I hope that
your kids find it
How I hope that you forget your MySpace
I hope it slips completely from your mind
And I hope it stays up long enough for the next
generation to find
And I hope that it embarrasses your children
I hope their bratty friends all forward it around
And I hope that you forget your password
So you cannot take it down
If your kids think you vaguely square, it will be so
much clearer
When they laugh at the pictures you took in your
bathroom mirror
They will not know your favorite band or any of the
others
"Who is this Soulja Boy you reference, who's the Jonas
Brothers?"
They'll marvel at how old you are, they'll "rofl" at
your outfits
Your tastes may pass as "vintage" in the future - but I
doubt it
I hope your cynical kids say, "Holy crap, this is great
these comments date all the way back to 2008."
I hope they dig through your pictures, and find some we
might call compromising
I hope that seeing young Mom in a swimsuit or smoking a
hookah isn't too traumatizing
But it will be past their comprehension
They'll ask "Did Grandpa not give you enough
attention?"
[insert rocking out here]
They might poke at your top 8 friends, read your
comments at the most
I only wish that they could see the inane bulletins you
post
