They will roll about in ashes; They will shave themselves completely bald because of you. Gird themselves with sackcloth, And weep for you With bitterness for you They will take up a lamentation, And lament for you: 'What city is like Tyre, Destroyed in the midst of the sea?'
“By pressing down a special key it plays a little melody.”
I wish I still had my old Casio Melody calculator.
(via postpunk)