Step lightly the years worn.
Play gladly, yet not too sad, ye sad trials unsung.
You've proven one-night bands still do exist.
Hey Lips, take the lead,
while I breaststroke this piano
from here to Washington Heights,
Doyle interjects he wants in.
We floaters float as one
as Nelly takes off her jacket.
Jazz can be so like the movies,
the long, tracking shot
which fades to black.
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