Jazz nostalgia

In a quiet quarter where the shadows fall,
A little jazz band played a soulful call
They sang to me of days that used to be,
Of fleeting youth and fading memory

The trumpet wept, a sorrowful refrain,
The guitars echoed with a gentle pain
The double bass performed a magic trick,
The drummer was a god with every stick

My heart was aching with a heavy sigh,
I thought of all the years that hurried by
When I was young and full of fiery might,
Before the evening turned into the night

And now there's nothing left for me to do,
But listen to the music, pure and true
To sip my whiskey in the fading light,
And think of times when everything was bright

But no, I do not sorrow or despair,
My life was lived with honor and with care
I have so many stories I can tell,
To children and to grandchildren as well

Cry, guitar, and let your feelings flow,
Sing, sweet trumpet, soft and low
Sing, lead singer, of the days of youth,
A melody of beauty and of truth

And when the concert finally is done,
I'll buy you whiskey, every single one
Together we will share a quiet glass,
And reminisce about the days that pass