[Intro] (Fast, intricate acoustic fingerpicking in 7/8 time, tightly locked with an upright bass) [Verse 1] I found it in the back behind the vintage denim coats A dusty plastic chassis with a hundred broken notes It smells like nineteen-ninety and a pack of stale cloves I’m dragging it back to the apartment in droves The power cord is frayed but the circuitry is sound I’m plugging it in just to see what I’ve found [Chorus] It’s a thrift store synthesizer, patching up the brain A modular escape from the Brooklyn rain I’m writing my own sound in the static and the hum Waiting for the pure inspiration to come It’s math-folk madness in a tiny little room Sweeping out the cobwebs with an analog broom [Verse 2] The acoustic is jealous, it’s leaning on the wall But this polyphonic beauty is returning my call I’m mapping out the harmonics, tweaking all the knobs Avoiding the reality of terrible day jobs A creative writer with a patch bay and a dream Trying to hold the seams of a digital regime [Bridge] (Time signature shifts to a driving 4/4, heavy acoustic strumming) Analog! Digital! What's the difference now? I’m making a racket and taking a bow! [Chorus] It’s a thrift store synthesizer, patching up the brain A modular escape from the Brooklyn rain I’m writing my own sound in the static and the hum Waiting for the pure inspiration to come It’s math-folk madness in a tiny little room Sweeping out the cobwebs with an analog broom [Outro] Unplug it before it catches fire. Save the draft. (Abrupt silence)
