I feel it again,
The ferocious beating of calypso drums,
Coursing through my fingers,
Creating foul beings.
These false shadows of which have burst forth from my skin,
Have created a jazz band of sin.
The lead thing plays the saxophone with a mean streak,
Speaking through notes,
Telling me I'm a no-good girl.
A shadow further back laughs through their trombone,
Telling saxophone Sam that he's a mean man.
And Sam counters back through a long drawn out solo,
Followed by some sorrow snaps,
That he can't help that.
I'm chasing down shots,
With tambourine sobs jingling from my throat,
Talking about how no one really appreciated the jazzy ax man.
Trombone tyrone nods like they understand,
When really they're just playing a damn good rift,
And I'm actually just a few notes short of a composure.