The Disks of Unix

To the Tune of “Sounds of Silence” by Simon & Garfunkel

Hello comix my old friend.
I’ve come to program you again.
because a student softly creeping,
guessed my password while I was sleeping.
And the programs
with just remnants in my brain,
don’t remain,
upon the disks… of UNIX.

In flick’ring lights I type along.
Load my program, what was wrong?
Letters haloed by my squinting,
at the program that I was lint-ing.
For my eyes were blurred
by the flash of the cathode beam,
term’nal screen,
and all the C… on UNIX.

And in the fuzzy light I saw
10,000 hackers, maybe more:
Hackers staring without blinking,
hackers typing without thinking.
Hackers writing code
that programs never shared.
(No one dared,
disturb the disks… of UNIX.)

“Fools,” said I, “you do not know.
Kludges make the d.u. grow.
Comment functions that I might read them.
Update man-files ’cause I might need them.”
But my words
like unread printout fell,
(Oh well…)
An echo,
On the disks… of UNIX.

 

by Malcolm Dickinson <CLARINET@YALEVMX>

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