Album: Painting It Red
No one wrote a song for me Just instrumental not too long
As sure as sure could ever be You’d only get the lyrics wrong
No solo Chet Baker ever played
Lowered me slowly to my grave
The prose that Keats and Yates would save
Was for king and queen not knave
I have no poem that describes my charm
No story told that’s short and sweet
I have no hymn, I have no psalm
This song I have, it has no beat
Yes, it has no beat, and no tapping of feet
Yes, it has no beat, yes, it has no beat…
Miles Davis played the black 'n' blues
Did he play for me to lose?
'Cause just when 'round midnight falls
That tune’s not his, it’s Kenny Ball’s
Now in that graveyard on that grave
On that tombstone in the shade
No poem written, no accolade
And no 'We loved you' ever sprayed
There’s just this feeling from that moss
When epitaph you cannot read
He must have lived it at a budget cost
So he deserves to be beneath
All that William Robinson wrote
Not one of my plusses did he portray
Those lyrics stuck right down my throat
I never hit, it never hit
My hit parade, my hit parade, my hit parade…