The Jazzmann
It was already late
When I heard
From the back of the bar
The song of a guitar
He was seated at the corner of the bar
Scratching on his guitar
His mind on the stars
His look fixed on a picture
He was fed up with the life
Fed up with all this melanckoly
He had been popular
And was,he was been forgotten
In the morning, he was found dead
At the bottom of the old Port
It was an old jazzman
Whose only companion
Was his beautiful guitar
It was already late
When I heard
From the back of the bar
The song of a guitar
He was seated at the corner of the bar
Scratching on his guitar
His mind on the stars
His look fixed on a picture
He was fed up with the life
Fed up with all this melanckoly
He had been popular
And was,he was been forgotten
In the morning, he was found dead
At the bottom of the old Port
It was an old jazzman
Whose only companion
Was his beautiful guitar