Turn the dial to midnight gold,
Bic flick, vinyl hugs the needle’s hold;
Jukebox neon paints the diner air—
Beatles smirk, Queen wants to ride anywhere.
Disco ball drops like a shooting star,
MJ spins us right through sugar bar;
Whitney climbs the notes of every dream,
Prince pours purple over silver screen.
Lighters lift, Bon Jovi shouts we’re not bad,
Cobain whispers teen spirit we never had;
From sock-hop swing to grunge-lit therapy,
These years still sing the oldest part of me.