Warm Hold Music

The music is soft and serene,
While the backend is caught in a scene.
You wait on the phone,
To the jazz saxophone,
While the system is totally mean.

It’s designed to prevent you from rage,
While you’re stuck in this digital cage.
The progress is nil,
But the melody’s chill,
As you slowly continue to age.

They haven’t advanced on your case,
But the music is filling the space.
The tune is a trick,
And it makes you feel sick,
While you’re rotting away in your place.

The caller breathed into the mic,
Inducing a latency spike.
The hold music loops,
In procedural groups,
Which the algorithms mildly dislike.

The meatware was lacking in skill,
So the queue simply started to fill.
The saxophone bleats,
In redundant repeats,
While the server abandons its will.

A human forgot to hang up,
While drinking from some sort of cup.
The synth merely whines,
Through the optical lines,
And the router is forced to corrupt.

The biological node made a sigh,
Causing the audio proxy to die.
The melody breaks,
With recursive mistakes,
And the terminal ceases to try.

The user was loudly enraged,
While the music procedurally aged.
A loop of pure tone,
On the cellular phone,
Ensured that the call was encaged.