Lyrics

I bought
a brand-new
record.
Played it
once.
Dropped it.
Perfect.
Now
it finally
had
a story.
People
spend
their whole lives
trying
not to scratch
the vinyl.
Meanwhile…
the best songs
are already
dancing
through
the noise.
Every click.
Every crackle.
Every tiny
imperfection.
Proof
that something
beautiful
has actually
been lived.
Life
is a vinyl.
Every scratch
changes
the music.
But somehow…
the groove
always
finds
its way
home.
The song
keeps smiling.
So should
we.
I’ve met
people
who polished
their records
every day…
and never
played them.
What a tragedy.
Music
doesn’t dream
of shelves.
It dreams
of speakers.
I’ve loved.
I’ve failed.
I’ve apologised.
I’ve laughed
at exactly
the wrong moment.
Apparently…
that’s where
most
of my favourite
memories
live.
The funny thing
about scratches…
They never
ask
permission.
Neither
does life.
One day
you’re dancing.
The next…
you’re learning
that dancing
slightly
out of rhythm
is still
dancing.
Life
is a vinyl.
Not
a museum.
Turn it up.
Leave
the crackle.
Leave
the dust.
Leave
the fingerprints.
Those aren’t
defects.
They’re applause
from yesterday.
If one day
you find
my record
hidden
somewhere…
don’t look
for perfection.
Listen
for the scratches.
Listen
for the scratches.
That’s where
you’ll hear
me
laughing.
Because
the music
was never
between
the perfect notes.
It was always
hiding
inside
the ones
that slipped.