Verse 1 (Am F C G) I grew up with albums stacked under my bed, bootleg dreams in a shoebox, half misread. Cardboard sleeves, burned names in a shaky ballpoint pen, press play, close my eyes, let the world begin. Then the songs moved into plastic, into screens, this clunky little store in gray and navy sheen. Everything would stutter when I clicked “buy track,” felt cheap on my laptop, like the soul turned flat. Pre-Chorus (F G C Am) So I waited for the next thing, some miracle fix, Microsoft logos in fluorescent, sterile bricks. Then it all blurred into clouds and a “Play” in green, I rolled my eyes like an emoji no one’s ever seen… Chorus (C G Am F) Do people still love music like I did? Holding every chord like a secret that they hid? Do they still rewind the bridge just to hear their heart break, or is it all just playlists on in the background, for productivity’s sake? Do people still love music like I did? Verse 2 (Am F C G) Now it’s singles on a screen, thumbnails in a row, every face already famous ’fore the first hello. But I made my little EP, five songs and a prayer, uploaded my diary into the autumn air. Suno’s just a station on a dial no one can see, same as ABC at midnight, or the Fox marquee. I talk about my day like it’s headline news, extrovert confessions in these bedroom shoes. Pre-Chorus 2 (F G C Am) Sometimes I think my wiring is a kind of disability, I care too much, too loud, in public visibility. But when the chorus hits, it feels like proof I exist, like every awkward overshare curls into a riff… Chorus 2 (C G Am F) Do people still love music like I did? Waiting for the leak like a long-lost little kid? Reading liner notes online ’cause the booklet’s all gone, building mixtapes out of algorithms, but still singing along. Do people still love music like I did? Bridge (Dm Am Em G) Last night the news said somewhere in Korea there was flame, someone shelled a harbor, or a base, I forget the name. My chest flickered red with every breaking alert, I muted the anchors, but I still felt hurt. So I went back to the albums that raised me from the cold, cracked jewel cases telling me I might still grow old. I strummed three chords and told the truth like I was a kid, asked the quiet dark of my rented room again… Final Chorus (C G Am F) Do people still love music like I did? When it all felt new and painfully vivid? High school haze, cheap weed, and a secondhand guitar, every song a constellation, not a product on a shelf of stars. Do people still love music like I did? Would you press repeat if I vanished like a kid? Maybe I’m just one more voice in the infinite grid, asking, through the noise and the clickbait and the ads, asking, through the wars and the timelines and the vids, asking, to anyone who’s ever really listened: Do people still love music like I did? Outro (C G Am F) ’Cause I still love music like I did. Yeah, I still love music like I did.
