The robot that makes the music for the claymation children's public access shows since the 1970's is pondering its future and slowly going mad. These days bring infrequent uses for a once wondrous machine: the robust glowing tubes that fueled its warm orange halo are dulled and less insistent. Perhaps inefficiency and glazing is precipitating this lack of clarity of self-purpose and intent. Over the years, our glorious robot has inched closer and closer to the tiny storeroom window and for the past five years has watched the small garden below the tv studio, a flower plot tended to by the maintenance man and his tiny, jolly wife. Now, with no purpose left in this cold, digital future, he still does according to his function, and through the floating dust motes, scores the scene outside. A day will go by and it will have only a stanza done, a line of code/music that keeps slipping, in pitch and in tempo. It fears the future, but it also fears futility, obsolescence, and being alone at the end of its days. In the past all these things have been anathema to the robot but in these last final years, as one force becomes cloudy, the other becomes clarity. It will go on, and there will be another spring. The suite must be done. And the bees still buzz.