MP3

I wanna see the peeling reminder
Of how much I spent;
Seven hours toil meant
I'll never discard that Teenage Fanclub LP
Even if it never got on with me.

Or the biro'd second-hand price indented,
Telling tales of Oxfam, Ealing
The time spent healing
From a heavy night before
And in refuge from domestic war.

I wanna run my finger over the soft tear in the sleeve
Caused by my rage
In a more passionate age
And because I never wanted to go to that party in the first place.

The scribbles of a lost friend discoloured by time
The song titles alone
Evoke feelings unknown
Memories you can't get
Without a time-capsule cassette

It makes no sense
So I'm told
By those desperate not to be seen to be old
Well you can keep yer mp3
You can stick it
'Til I can kick it like my vinyl
'Til I can scratch it like a CD
You can keep your mp3
I like my C90, 60 & 30
I wanna see the cover
Or as I say, artwork
I wanna search with my thumbs
Not scroll through a database
That can be organised with one click
But never in a way that satisfies the soul

There's nothing wrong with a bit of old
A bit of slow
A bit of holding the physical
To help you contemplate
These abstract noises that mean nothing and everything.