Matthew Bal

The rain taps the glass On a Bourbon Street night. The trumpet's asleep, But the jukebox still fights With a ghost of a tune That we used to all know down in the Cellar where the sad rivers flow. There sits a man With his hat on the floor. The bartender whispers, "He's been here Before. Don't ask for a dance. Don't you tap your foot's heel. That old broken sound is too painful to Feel." Oh, Marty Ball, where did the rhythm go? Marty Ball, playing a one-note slow. He lost the groove in a poker game downtown. Now Marty Ball just drags the whole band down, But we love him still In the pale blue light. Marty Ball, Hugging his horn so tight. He once had a stride like the late-night train, Made the girls in the front row forget their Own name, but he sold his last chorus for A handful of lies, and the tempo ran out When he blinked his two eyes. Now the bass walks alone and the hi-hat just Hisses. He searches for time in the empty night's Chasms. The piano cries crumbs and the snare drum Just wheezes. He's down to the dust of the Last sweet diseases. Oh, Marty Ball, where did the rhythm go? Marty Ball, playing a one-note slow. He lost the groove in a poker game downtown. Now Marty Ball just drags the whole band down, But we leave him a light on a fire Escape. For Marty Ball, The man who bent his shape. Mm, you see, jazz ain't about the notes you Hit. It's about the space, the little bit of Grit. Marty Ball forgot how to wait. He starts his solo one bar too late, And the moon through the smoke hole knows his Crime. He tried to play forever But ran out of time. Yeah, Marty Ball, the king of the tragic fall. Marty Ball, he's got no curtain call. He lost his eight to the queen of spades. Now he just stares at the cracked parade. Sing it low. For Marty Ball. Pour a strong one. For Marty Ball. The night is long. For Marty Ball. Who forgot to swing. Yeah, Marty Ball. He just forgot to swing. Marty Ball. Good night, man.