In love with the man that sits behind the piano.
He sings his soul in bass, alto soprano.
Ammo, his gun he shoots with no blanks,
He prays to his version of God but it’s me that he thanks …
And I bid him welcome with my Adieu.
My eyes tell my secrets with each rendezvous.
Ivory & ebony upon the fingers he keys,
And the union of melody when I fall to my knees.
He grabs me by my hips, with his instruments he effortlessly makes me sing his soprano.
Irrevocably in love with the brim-hatted man, whom lives in my heart, and sits behind the piano.