GPS Handheld Scam-Flop

Lyrics

Just a piece of grey plastic in a cardboard box.
You were cold to the touch, even then.
So much promise in your little screen.
A GPS for street racing. 
Who were you kidding?

October 2005. The launch parties.
Tiger Telematics, what a name.
You felt important in my hands, a solid weight.
Camera, GPS, messages... the future, they said.
Twenty-five thousand of you, scattered and lost.
Before the world even learned your name.

This was never about the games, was it?
This was about the money disappearing.
A beautiful shell for a hollowed-out dream.
Carl Freer, Stefan Eriksson, the boys from Sweden.
A true-crime story in a handheld machine.

The money flowed from Stockholm to Florida.
Three hundred million dollars, gone like a ghost.
They said it was for development, for marketing, for us.
But the rumors followed, whispers of a criminal past.
And you just sat there on the shelf, your screen dark.
A perfect alibi, collecting dust.

This was never about the games, was it?
This was about the money disappearing.
A beautiful shell for a hollowed-out dream.
Carl Freer, Stefan Eriksson, the boys from Sweden.
A true-crime story in a handheld machine.

February 21, 2006.
Two-thirty in the morning on the Pacific Coast Highway.
A red Ferrari Enzo at one-sixty.
Splintered against a telephone pole in Malibu.
The smell of hot rubber and scorched wire.
And Stefan walks away from the wreck, bleeding someone else's money.
And the whole thing just... broke.

The bankruptcy papers were filed.
The retailers sent you back.
Now you're just a strange artifact.
A collector's item, a footnote in a scam.
A little plastic coffin for a very big lie.