by Exwintech

The sun sets over Redmond, and evening shadows grow,
Steve and Bill are musing, that Vista Sales are low.
"Windows sold like beer before - there's one in every house,
But Vista's all-through DRM-ing - even for the mouse,
Has made the selling slacken, do say it isn't so..."

Seven years of devving, code fifty million lines,
Should be pretty good, for paying-off the fines,
So Vista should be selling - to all the folks around,
Why care about the DRM-ing - even on the sound?
Still Windows as it ever was, stable and sublime.

But those at home won't wear it, their XP's going well,
At least as they can grok it, as they can't really tell,
Their hardware's not for Vista - the Tester told them so,
They can't afford the right stuff - to make a Vista go,
And the pretty stuff from Apple, won't make Vista sell.

Sunset fades to nightfall, with spirits burning low,
Stevo sighs and wonders, what way now to go?
Bill cracks another bottle - Scotch of Label Black,
Pondering on the puzzle - of taking up the slack.
As Vista isn't Windows, the sort we used to know.

Ten million lines of DRM-ing, ten million more for show,
And twenty mill they're hiding, ten mill to make it go,
There might have been a time - for sure it isn't now,
For DRM'd archaic systems - to take a sweeping bow.
For Vista's not a vision, it's now a tale of woe.

The clock is close to midnight, the night is drawing in,
The Billionaires keep drinking, their vision growing dim,
"Getting it so badly wrong - how did we manage that?
We never miss a nasty trick - how could it fall so flat?"
What they missed was Users, just tossed them in the bin.

Three-quarters of a Billion, not counting Windows cracks,
Already some are leaving, and won't be going back,
Midnight now and bottle down - the shadows seem to grow,
Odd things seen in passing - that they don't want to know,
For in the corner smiling, is a Penguin dressed in black.