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I'Ll Never Play Carnegie Hall, Oh No
Well, I sit here all day and I practice Chopin
And I bang that poor keyboard like no other man.
What the hell does it get me but sore fingertips?
As I grunt in frustration while chewing my lips.
But I went to a concert on Saturday night
And beheld a grandmaster there in the limelight.
As his hands moved like lightning I wanted to shout;
Ludwig Beethoven's thunder came cascading out.
I was lucky to have a front balcony seat
As a perch to look down from on such a rare treat.
The performance was perfect, but made me so sad
As it served to remind me I was truly quite bad
(And to tell you quite frankly, it almost drove me mad.)
The musician of whom I've been ranting and raving
Is a Russian by birth, a small fact I've been saving
To disclose once I'd told you the effect on my mind
When I entered the Palace for this one-of-a-kind
Virtuoso performance after which I had dined.
At McDonald's I spied him there standing in line
As he ordered an Angus and a glass of red wine.
Though I asked about caring for tendons that smart
His response grabbed my ego and shook it apart.
As he paid the young clerk for his hasty repast
He rotated his visage and spake very fast.
He said, "Ham-handed brutes are the ones who risk much;
"To avoid any damage, they'd lighten their touch."
Copyright ©
Roderick Molasar
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