A DJ's Dream

Though long past the age most chase stardom, he reconnects his fingers to the jog wheels, reconnecting like old friends
With silver in his beard and fire in his heart
His hands, rough from time and toil, now move with surprising grace
Scratching vinyl, bending sound, commanding rhythm.

He plays not for fame, but for feeling
His style is rustic, veiled in mystery
Like a unfrequented vinyl found in an attic
A hidden gem that still hits harder than anything modern
The world may call him old-school, but when he spins, generations listen.