One thing I hate, places where they have taped muzak on all day. You know, the stuff they put on to keep punters happy by promoting a warm friendly atmosphere, where nobody has to cope with dreadful things like a little piece and quiet. It’s carefully calculated to be just loud enough to annoy bolshie philistines like me who can’t stand muzak, and just quiet enough so that people who like that type of music will ( I suspect ) be irritated that they can’t hear it properly and enjoy it.
So I wrote this little poem to express my loathing of taped muzak. Now all I have to do is find a tune for it.
The tills are alive with the sound of muzak,
With queues that will last for a thousand years.
My blood how it chills at the sound of muzak,
That sound, how it fills my poor heart with tears
It’s the same in the lift when they’re closing the doors,
You’re trapped in that cage with the noise.
And you hope in your heart that the lift won’t break down
And you’re trapped between floors
The tune may be old, or may be it’s new, but they all sound the same.
My day turns to night and the world that I see is grey.
I go to the Malls, when I do my shopping,
I know I will hear what I’ve heard before.
My heart will be cursed with the sound of muzak,
And I’ll cringe once more.