Bardfly Blues / Samingo

Now entertain conjecture of a time
Maybe it's 1958, maybe it's 1598, maybe it's today
The date's ambiguous, but the locale is definitely seedy
An out-of-the-way jazz club called "We Three Kings"
About which the best thing you can say
Is the piano's in tune and everybody's been vaccinated

Feste "The Bardfly" Johnson has been holding court
At a sit-down gig every Saturday in February
Two shows nightly
During leap year
They make up for lost time by playing all the tempos twice as fast
Sharing the elevation with a tight little combo he met
When they were all working downtown at Jack's Slacks For Less
Over on East Cheap Boulevard
Free tailoring with every purchase
"Let Jack take up the slack"

They're like the Swiss Army knife of jazz quintets
All their instruments have multiple uses
The saxophone doubles as a sledgehammer
Breaking down all romantics into a rubble of regret and longing
The trumpet is also a fine furniture polish
Slick and shiny and reflective
The piano, of course, functions as a .45 caliber Tommy Gun
AKA the Chicago Piano, AKA the Annihilator
And in its more crystalline moments, a chandelier
The bass converts to a lectern
From which its strict and righteous rhythms are handed down
The drums moonlight as a, well, as a commuter train
Carrying the audience from the deep heart of Kansas City blues
To the gumbo pot of New Orleans hot jazz
To the shimmering uptown pulse of a Harlem nocturne

The band provides the only heat in the place
With the exception of Miss Nell, the cocktail waitress
Who like the instruments, has a dual purpose
But only one of them is consensual
Old Feste's been working up some tunes
Cobbled together from various bits of things
A used hymnal
With a "Property of Stratford Unified" stamp on the inside cover
A few scraps of paper of indeterminate origin
Most likely an unpaid utility bill
Or the back of a "Dear Romeo" letter
Or maybe the discarded remnants of a forgotten folio

The crowd is hushed
Which is only the result of their current state of inebriation
And will change
With the particular alchemical machinations of the resident bar keep
Who keeps a sharpened halberd mounted above the register
And who makes a mean Martini he calls a Sirocco
That is one part gin and three parts loneliness
A drink so dry, you need another one just to wash it down
The players hit the stage, ready to strut and fret for an hour set
And for one brief candle of a moment
Everyone's worries
Like the rocks in their spirits
Will melt into air
Into thin air

Do nothing but eat and make good cheer
And praise God for the merry year
When flesh is cheap and females dear
And lusty lads roam there and here
So merrily
And ever among, and ever among so merrily
Do me right
And dub me knight
Samingo

A cup of wine that's brisk and fine
And drink unto my mistress mine
Now what's that old "Sweet Adeline"
That breaks the heart and makes us pine
Summarily
And ever among, and ever among so merrily
Set em up
And fill the cup
Samingo

A couple of couplets, rhymed or free
Iambs what iambs should be
Dactyl feet, the odd spondee
Repeated with epistrophe
So merrily
And ever a Monk, and ever a Monk so merrily
Write out a verse
And go rehearse
Samingo

Where there's a will there's a second best bed
And where there's a way it's straight ahead
Let's sing a song to show the dead
We're happy living here instead
So merrily
And ever among, and ever among so merrily
A sip of sack
A water back
Straight from the cask
No need to ask
Pick up the tab
For old Queen Mab
Samingo