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Spin the record, let it play,
Dusty grooves recall old days,
Crackles fill the quiet space,
Smiles appear upon your face.
Turning pages made of sound,
Stories linger, circling round,
Notes drift slowly, drawing near,
Past and present growing clear.
Evenings settle in this room,
Records share their faded bloom,
Laughter low and glances warm,
Every scratch becomes a charm.
Hands together, listening close,
Time unwinds what matters most,
Long forgotten melodies,
Bring tomorrow sweet and free.
Turning pages made of sound,
Stories linger, circling round,
Notes drift slowly, drawing near,
Past and present growing clear.
