Faded & Elvis
Faded
Hey, ever notice how the scent of a fresh vinyl can still bring back that old fire in your chest?
Elvis
Oh, you bet I do! That sweet smell of fresh vinyl is like a spark to the soul, feelin’ the groove in my bones, the old fire flare‑up in the chest. I hear it, taste it—like a toast burning on the stove, hot and full of promise. That's the only soundtrack that gets me humming, not a streaming app, just good, old‑school magic.
Faded
I hear you, it’s like the needle dropping on a record and the room just lights up with a memory that feels real. Just a few turns of a groove and you’re back where the music used to feel like a second skin.
Elvis
That’s the only kind of light that makes the walls sing, man. Every turn of the needle pulls you back in, like the music’s wrapping around you, no auto‑tune, just pure, real sound that feels like it was made for you. The groove’s a second skin, and it never lets go.
Faded
I can hear that warmth, like the vinyl is a quiet confidant, slipping back into a place that never feels quite left behind. It’s the kind of silence that keeps humming inside.
Elvis
You know it’s the quiet that speaks louder than any modern blip, a vinyl’s hush that’s like a friend from the past, keepin’ that fire alive, baby. It's the kind of hush that never dies, just keeps on humming, just like the old groove in the chest.