This evening the room is nearly full
He’ll perform his old songs
With his lady-killer shtick
The charm of the fifties
In front of ladies fanning themselves
And a few dim spotlights
Faced with the commotion of the room
Of those arriving and seating themselves
His dreams carry him away
There are those who drink and don’t give a damn
And for the rare ones who listen
There is the Crooner’s voice
He sings of his long ago loves
Revealing but a single theme
“The olden days are the best”
He steals discreet glances
At the ladies’ perfect figures
Who swoon from the heat
She always turns in his mind
The beauty with the cigarette holder
Who left with his heart
In the disorder and the commotion
You’ll hear no tears
In the voice of the Crooner
In front of ladies fanning themselves
He closes his eyes and sings
With his hand on his heart
There are those who drink and don’t give a damn
And for the rare ones who listen
There is the Crooner’s voice