Young men collect audio recordings
Stack CDs into purpose-built shelving
Might even inherit some vinyl
From family vaults, in need of revival
They move into a house, shared with friends
No more nagging about mess, or dog ends
Sound systems are set up, one in each bedroom
Speakers blast with beats, lifting the gloom
A young man leaves the house one day, for a rendezvous
With other friends, to sample a brew, or two
He returns and inserts a CD in his system
The music plays, but without its usual equilibrium
Not for the first time, it must be told
Because it’s that kind of household
Where the next man considers himself wiser
Someone’s adjusted the graphic equaliser
At this stage, a decision is needed
To seek out the one who did the deed
And get hostilities underway
Or just forget, and shrug it away . . .
‘KEEP OUT OF MY ROOM!
AND DON’T TOUCH MY STEREO!
IF YOU EVER DO THAT AGAIN . . .
I’LL KICK YOUR ASS! YOU’LL BE FLYING LIKE LOUIS BLERIOT . . .’