[Verse] There's a man with a bowler, in a speakeasy bar, Tickling the ivories, he's a ragtime star, But the world keeps spinnin' faster than before, And he's tryin' to keep up, but his fingers are sore. [Verse 2] His sheet music's scattered, dusty and torn, A relic of an era long before he was born, Now they talk about circuits and silicon chips, But all he needs is rhythm flowing through his fingertips. [Chorus] Digital ragtime, oh, how it's turning, Notes on the screen, and the old feel a-burnin’, With a syncopated beat, he's trying to stay, But the digits march forward, leaving ragtime away. [Verse 3] The young folks all gather 'round their sleek faux-keys, While he clings to the memories of sweet melodies, They say press this button, it’ll do all the rest, But he misses real hammers striking chords at their best. [Verse 4] He twinkles his eyes at the new-fangled gears, But all he hears is a hum that grates on his ears, So he busts out a number, a genuine score, Hoping maybe they'll fancy what they've all ignored before. [Chorus] Digital ragtime, the pace is rather trying, Old tunes in a scroll, and the shadows keep flying, He's a maestro from the past, with a future in sway, Still the digits march forward, leaving ragtime away.
