The Hearty Throb of the Elder's Radio

In a corner, filled with charm, Sits an elder, arm to arm, With a radio, old and worn, Playing tunes, since he was born. The radio throbs, the music alive, In the quiet, it seems to strive, To remind him of yesteryears, Of love, of laughter, of silent tears. A theft of time, it seems to be, As he listens, as he feels glee. A hello from the past, so overt, In every song, in every concert. A flirt with memories, sweet and sour, As the radio plays, hour by hour. He heaves a sigh, in content, In this moment, he is present. No tooth, no berth, can compare, To the joy that fills the air. For in the throbs of the elder's radio, Is a life lived, a beautiful tableau [instrumental Interlude] A theft of time, it seems to be, As he listens, as he feels glee. A hello from the past, so overt, In every song, in every concert. A flirt with memories, sweet and sour, As the radio plays, hour by hour. He heaves a sigh, in content, In this moment, he is present. No tooth, no berth, can compare, To the joy that fills the air. For in the throbs of the elder's radio, Is a life lived, a beautiful picture [outro]