Clarinet Solo At St. Cecelia's

Up and down my fingers fly, connecting and leaving in the blink of an eye, sparkling silver keys pumping up and down, at shcool my fingers are treated with renown, My silver rings flash in the brightly harsh light, and I blank out enverything else from my sight, focusing on the music in front of me, whipping from the low A to a double octave C, completing a measure and waiting a beat, by then I'm red and sweating from the obscene heat, mentally I sigh when I hit the decrescendo just fine, I barely remember repeating measures six to twenty-nine, and then with a sweeping bow, I stride off the stage, and vaguely wonder "What now?"