Message in a bottle, rhythm of a drum
Smoke signals and telegraphs make the airwaves hum
But that‘s all ancient history like bongs and Lincoln Logs
Now we livin‘ like the Jetsons in a wireless wacky fog
Squawkin‘ talkin‘ hawkin‘ who knows if anybody‘s gettin‘ through
Toasters talk to crackberries, Bombay to L.A.
Teenage needs and long-held dreams as minutes tick away
We act like crazy people talking to ourselves
Crashing cars in conversation while that shit flies off the shelf
The information superhighways locked up like a L.A. traffic jam
Everybody‘s on the phone
So connected and all alone
From the pizza boy to the socialite
We all salute the satellites
Let me text you with your master plan
You‘re loud and clear but I don‘t understand
I‘m a digital explorer in analog roam
And everybody‘s on the phone
Do you remember dialing up?
Yes I remember well
Now I just can‘t go anywhere with out my sacred cell
I think tha