Processing

Records

Simply put, you are old,

Torn up, scratched, worn, and cold;

But from these marks, I am clearly told,

That someone once loved you.

You were the favourite of the lot,

Repeatedly holding the number one spot,

In winters cold and summers hot;

I know someone once loved you.

Now those days are gone; you're here with me.

I peruse your scrapes and scuffs carefully,

But from first sight, I can clearly see,

That I am going to love you.