And All That Jazz

She sat on her bar stool, it was late in the night,
and the glow from the lamps hit her red hair just right
as it fell and it tumbled right down to her waist,
but the red dress she wore barely covered the whore she’d once been.

At the click of her fingers the barman appeared.
He’d been doing that for too many years;
shaking her cocktails, shining her glass;
hovering, waiting, ‘til she made a pass at him.

With her long legs crossed on the tall bar stool
he watched, as she sat, and one strappy shoe would
nonchalantly tap to the rhythm of the blues,
but when she looked his way he could see the melancholy hue in her eyes.

And the piano pieces tinkled in the corner of the room,
as the piano player’s fingers tickled ebony sounds that matched her mood.
And with the light in her eyes now dimmed by the gin and her loveless life,
she’d have one more Manhattan, for what did it matter now?

Then the clock on the bar read a quarter to three,
and he knew very soon she’d be leaving him be,
at the Two J’s Jazz Club where pianos played,
and lonely whores often got laid to rest.

Watch Val perform this live!

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