Like Tears in the Rain

What is it with microphones and men?
Stray polar patterns of the cardroid persuation,
exciting as one hears not only what's in front,
but also sideways?
A single diaphragm, hence no phase?
Smooth warmness of the tube-amplification,
like old and well-loved medication,
or even merely transistorial designs,
but with a noise floor that'll set
the shivers down your spines.
But maybe, after all, the answer not there lies,
and elsewhere must we send our mental spies,
for men who've seen things you people wouldn't believe,
pre-amps in fire off the shoulder of a technician,
watched switches glitter near the hardware gates,
such men will tell you that those silvery baits,
at least the reasonably respectable updates,
now come in little silver suitcases,
professional and manly to the core,
they bring tears to the eyes of more
technicians than would care to show
such feelings, such as tears in the rain,
which lack of microphones cannot explain
entirely, as now you know,
they miss the silver suitcase so.
The joy of new ones makes a fellow mute,
for all their masulinity they are so