Case latches. Kitchen light. Same ritual. Three drops. Spin the valves. Listen for sticky. [Verse 1: jazz-rap pocket, conversational, clear] I oil the horn like some folks pray Not holy. Just necessary. Stuck valves kill a night Apartment thin. Neighbor taps twice when I run scales late I tap back. Treaty. We both work weird hours Mute on the stand looks like a little metal hat I leave it off when I need to hear the ugly truth of my tone Gigs dried to a drip. Weddings want playlists now Clubs want names that fit on a story sticker I still show up to the open session with a bent stand Play behind a singer who forgets my name every set Pay is cash in a tip jar and a free ginger ale I take both. Pride eats later. Rent eats first Valve oil bottle half empty. Label peeled by my thumb I buy the cheap kind and pretend it is the same My teacher used to say grease the work not the dream I hated that line until the dream started bouncing checks [Hook: sung, warm, brass answering] Valve oil shine, keep the brass honest Three drops slow when the calendar is crooked Horn don't care if the room is half full It just wants air and a hand that will show up Valve oil shine, stubborn little bottle I came to play. I stay to practice [Verse 2: denser craft detail] Walk-in cooler at the club is my green room now Coat on a beer keg. Charts in a grocery bag Trombone guy offers a cigarette. I decline. Lungs are inventory He laughs. Says I treat the trumpet like a landlord Maybe. It collects every night I skip I run chromatic until my lip burns honest Miss a partial. Swear once. Start the bar again Metronome on the phone because the real one died App is ugly. Time is still true Bandleader texts maybe Thursday. Maybe means no I still wash the mouthpiece like a promise Case foam remembers every city we almost made Sticker from a festival that paid in exposure Exposure does not buy valve oil. I learned that loud I keep a spare bottle in the glove box like a spare tire Music is logistics dressed up as romance [Double-Time Switch: horn-solo speed in words, no commas] I stack the sixteenth runs like stairs I climb without looking down at empty chairs empty tips empty promises from a bandleader text Scales turn to sentences sentences turn to steam I ride the steam till the neighbor taps the wall and I ease then dig again Breath on the two then spit valve spit spit keep the line clean keep the ego smaller than the bell keep the pocket honest as a clock If the gig is a rumor I still show polished brass on time because rust is a choice and I refuse that particular shit tonight in this kitchen light [Bridge: spoken, Rhodes and brushes] I wipe the brass. Click the case. Kitchen clock says practice won again. That is not nothing. That is the job when the job is quiet. [Hook: sung, warm] Valve oil shine, keep the brass honest Three drops slow when the calendar is crooked Horn don't care if the room is half full It just wants air and a hand that will show up Valve oil shine, stubborn little bottle I came to play. I stay to practice [Outro: soft muted trumpet phrase, spoken] Tomorrow maybe Thursday becomes real. If not, three drops. Same light. Same stubborn.
0/500