The Cuvette Song

Believe me, those cuvettes are all fine
Glass, quartz you name em
And the cheap plastic ones too
Lying around all day long
Their sides scraped, stained walls
In hiding, wary of merciless hands
The chemical fate that awaits

Hands pick them up
Wary, old, new, excited
Then brutality gives rise to indifference
Clear transparency to bruising exterior
Practicality sets in

And when the screen shows the baseline wrong
They’ll stop in the middle of their carefree song
Blame it on poor you
When it was them operating all through