A few more things for my testament All records must be cast in cement One must leave his mark behind A mighty legacy for others to find When someday my grave gets revealed There’s a turntable by my head concealed An archaeologist with records in hand Asking, "What are these? I don’t understand." Ancient relics of the analog age Lost in life's fast-paced digital cage What killed this device so divine And is the world ready for its time? When the needle drops into the groove Even skeletons begin to move With the volume knob of the machine A soul returns to the crime scene You may hear a little crackling sound But it just makes the experience profound That warm tone spreads far and wide Add a fireplace and sausages beside Thus, humanity returns to its track Some things need to come back Hey everyone, come and hear These grooves can make the world sincere When the needle drops into the groove Even skeletons begin to move With the volume knob of the machine A soul returns to the crime scene
