The Recording Artists Each got there separately Over the slick of nighttime streets Quickly through the crumbling neighbourhoods Up the elevator to the studio They had to stop and start The mikes were changed several times, The pianist fiddled with the chords, The engineer arranged to add some strings With a button The replay sounded good for what it was But for the hell of it They sneaked away together By themselves And ran it through Start to finish Down the fire escape Until somebody had to call the cops ________________________________________________________________________ Emanuel E. García, 2014 |