The bytes go creeping by, Eudora
The net has broken down again.
I'll get my mail today, Eudora,
But I'll be damned if I know when

    For the screen fills in as slowly now,
    As when I was on AOL.
    But with the mail that's coming in now
    I think it may be just as well.

The spam comes pouring in, Eudora;
A never-ending siren's song.
If all of it were true, Eudora,
I'd have a Thing 12 meters long.

    They sell you stocks and bonds and girls,
    And boys, and condos by the sea.
    I don't know where they got my address,
    But like some old drunk, they just won't leave me be.

P.