The club was cool, laid back, and really slick;
Art Deco styled, but chromed and black and glowing.
Too bad the cigarette smoke was making me sick,
Cos now the excitement in the crowd was growing.
I strolled across the polished wooden floor
Through the tables to the music stage.
I carried up a Bach sinfonia score,
Loose, but careful not to drop one page.
My reeds were soaking in a glass of Coke;
I fetched ’em out and set ’em in my horn.
They’re laughing now at someone’s clever joke.
For just a moment, I feel old and worn.
But when I raise the old horn to my lips,
I’m young again, within the Muses’ grips.
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