The First of Thomas Alva Edison

The sound that projects from the needle that
Lies gently on this disk

It started with a sound
That created small songs
You projected our music
Singing all day long

You gave us a smile
With an old little tune
From 1877
You will stay old
Like the wandering moon

I know I've told you a million times before
These songs are like gold
They will always be here

The records we listen to
How old they may be
Our record players stay
They are perfect to me