Worlds grow old and CPUs are hot
And crash we sometimes doubt.
Fan's cold wind, wailing hot from case,
Reminds us that all files have date,
And logging space is gone out.

But the Windows has loaded; tell your children when.
Screen will get its blue color again.

Cycles tick while the contacts burn,
And memory and hard drives age.
Old system passes to dummy's hands,
Time clears dust from page of its RAMs
And switches to another page.

But the Windows has loaded; tell your children when.
Screen will get its blue color again.

But we who know the water in snow
When winter falls over our world
Will not use it for cooling at all
Though a silicon CPU cannot grow mold
it would lost its flags and more.

For the Windows has loaded; tell your children when.
Screen will get its blue color again.

We know well what software can tell:
If it doesn't die, it grows.
And today our fragile siliceous steel
Suffering from what is fat and real
With all of its bugs to know

That the Windows has loaded; tell your children when.
Screen will get its blue color again.

From all who tried out of monopolies tide,
Try find a team that won.
And the old DOS smiles at past users' reach,
The wave that carried us up the beach
Kills concurrents like Sun.

That the Windows has loaded; tell your children when.
Screen will get its blue color again.