🍓 palina 🍇 wants 🍊 a 🍋 jam 🍍

In elder days, when songs were sung

By silver tongues and harps well-strung,

Two kindred souls, both wise and keen,

Set forth to hear what lies unseen.

Not swords, nor spells, nor dragon's flame,

But albums bore their noble name.

Each week a disc, a tale, a sound —

From silent hills to Mithril-ground.

Lord Aaron bold, with ears of steel,

Chose records rich with ancient feel.

While Lady Palina, fair and bright,

Sought melodies in morning light.

They listened close and judged with care,

With notes and ratings, rare and fair.

They laughed, they wept, they took their stand,

Whilst preparing exams with steady hand.

Brains were fried and notes were cursed,

They listened on — for better or worse.

For even in academic strife,

Good music sparks a second life.

The Hobbits danced, the Ents approved,

The Orcs complained but slightly grooved.

For every track, both dark and clear,

Was heard with heart, and scored with cheer.

Through jazz-kissed woods and prog-rock seas,

Through synthwave storms and lo-fi breeze,

Their list grew long, a golden scroll —

Of every album, part and whole.

So read it, friend, and hear it true:

The tunes they picked, reviewed by two.

One list to rule, in rhyme entwined —

A fellowship of song and mind.