I see you looking through the record stacks, Your face reflecting in the glossy wax. I think about my old milk crates at home— Of times together that you’ll never know,
‘Cause I go home to spin records alone. Yeah, I always spin records alone. I go home to spin records alone. I always seem to spin records alone.
I’ve wondered if you’ll ever notice me, If all those crates will still be yet unseen. There’s solace in the winding spiral scratch, But without you I still feel so detached.
‘Cause I don’t want to spin records alone.
And I guess you’ll never know That I don’t want to spin records alone.
