In the back of the old arcade,
A relic of a bygone decade,
An old and beaten machine stands,
Playing music from foreign lands.
I step in time with the beat,
Laughing as I quickly stomp my feet.
A flash of something catches my eye,
Is that you passing me by?
I pause, look around
But you're not to be found.
A phantom, a whisper, a dream...
Or at least so it may seem.