You hunt for beige and bulky boxes in the online shops,

To chase the ghost of childhood with its thirty-seven keys.

You speak of SID and sprites with reverential, worshipful tone,

While modern life's a window that you've permanently closed.

You miss the happy loading screen, the rainbow-colored bars,

More real to you than deadlines or the passing of the cars.

You type the LOAD command, then press the sacred key RETURN,

Not facing the unending scroll of feeds that you adjourn.

In retrospective (it lost its magic)

Old skool graphics (a disk of plastic)

Press start to play (your life away)

Reset then save (update today)

In retrospective (it lost its magic)

Old skool graphics (a disk of plastic)

Press start to play (your life away)

Reset then save (update today)

You fetishize the quote mark that you had to shift on TWO,

A quaint and awkward ritual to make the present new.

You swap the disk at halftime when the prompt says INSERT B,

A tiny, tactile problem in your pixelated sea.

You praise the "computer music," not the "chiptune" of today,

A purist's hill you've chosen as the place you'll proudly stay.

The joystick with its single fire, a sturdy plastic lance,

Beats any haptic feedback in your curated romance.

In retrospective (it lost its magic)

Old skool graphics (a disk of plastic)

Press start to play (your life away)

Reset then save (update today)

In retrospective (it lost its magic)

Old skool graphics (a disk of plastic)

Press start to play (your life away)

Reset then save (update today)

You catalogue the peripherals, the modems and the mice,

To buffer your existence with a curated device.

You're fluent in the jargon of a forty-year-old scene,

But can't articulate the angst of what your life might mean.

The past is not a paradise; it's just a different grind,

With limitations you have carefully redesigned.

You update not your drivers, but your stockpile of the past,

A future-proofing failure where your present's fading fast.

In retrospective (it lost its purpose)

Old skool graphics (a terminal surface)

Press start to play (your life's decay)

Reset then save (too late today)

In retrospective (it lost its purpose)

Old skool graphics (a terminal surface)

Press start to play (your life's decay)

Reset then save (too late today)

The golden age is just a buffer,

Overflowing with your dread.

Type RUN. The cursor's blinking…

On the screen inside your head.

In retrospective (it lost its purpose)

Old skool graphics (a terminal surface)

Press start to play (your life's decay)

Reset then save (too late today)

In retrospective (it lost its purpose)

Old skool graphics (a terminal surface)

Press start to play (your life's decay)

Reset then save (too late today)

In… retrospective…

Old… skool…

Press… start…

Reset…