Hell mysterious, Like an untold story, Trapped and tedious, Recreating the same old glory, Like a diamond so precious, She marked another victory, Again making you all go curious, She disappeared like it was all so illusory.
The melodious thunk of Thelonious Monk. Nobody ever played the piano that way before or since nobody ever imagined music that way before or since.
It took a while for the audience to get it. Longer for the critics.
And the Poor Man - all he wanted was a hit record.
His wayward mind took him in difficult directions. Left him with flint on his tongue a fever on his brain. No matter to the music, though.
So take it any way you like - straight, no chaser. Or after midnight. Doesn't matter the time and place the drinks they're serving.
Not in this smoky little club practically sitting with the band. Know what I mean? Music like this might once have been heard on a planet spinning in some wild ellipse around Alpha Centauri. But never here. Never now.
So sit back and enjoy! That's what I'm doing - swinging slowly. Join me, friends.
Book your flight to my home town. Bring your seven-cornered syncopation hat, your saxophone or any other musical instruments you possess. You can sleep in a tent beneath the fir trees in my backyard once the guest room is full.
And together we can search for the mystic connections between interstellar music poetry truth and love.