The years are going by so fast it really is bewilderin'
And we'll be so-called "grown ups" and have mortgages 
and children
I hope we all gain worldliness, and wisdom, maturity
But I hope most of all that MySpace falls into 
obscurity

I hope our profiles all go dead, entombed in distant 
servers
A monument of your youth, although lacking its 
observers
Your page will be an empty shell, when no one is behind 
it
I hope your MySpace stays forever - and I hope that 
your kids find it


How I hope that you forget your MySpace
I hope it slips completely from your mind
And I hope it stays up long enough for the next 
generation to find
And I hope that it embarrasses your children
I hope their bratty friends all forward it around
And I hope that you forget your password
So you cannot take it down

If your kids think you vaguely square, it will be so 
much clearer
When they laugh at the pictures you took in your 
bathroom mirror
They will not know your favorite band or any of the 
others
"Who is this Soulja Boy you reference, who's the Jonas 
Brothers?"

They'll marvel at how old you are, they'll "rofl" at 
your outfits
Your tastes may pass as "vintage" in the future - but I 
doubt it


I hope your cynical kids say, "Holy crap, this is great
these comments date all the way back to 2008."
I hope they dig through your pictures, and find some we 
might call compromising
I hope that seeing young Mom in a swimsuit or smoking a 
hookah isn't too traumatizing
But it will be past their comprehension
They'll ask "Did Grandpa not give you enough 
attention?"

[insert rocking out here]

They might poke at your top 8 friends, read your 
comments at the most
I only wish that they could see the inane bulletins you 
post