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Jazz

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Ek verlang na jazz
in 'n rook-bedek, warme vertrek,
die smaak van bier
en Count Basie posters vas teen die muur,
die man of vrou
wat hul oë op my lippe hou
maar saggies aan hul partners klou,
die tyd wat loop
van kwart oor twaalf
tot iets oor twee
en ek wat huiswaarts tree
ietwat verleë
want die catch van die aand
kom eenkeer 'n maand
en het tog so beleef
op papier geskreef
"sien jou weer,
miskien ‘n volgende keer?”

Ek verlang na jazz
in 'n rook-bedek, warme vertrek
waar ek my heupe swaai
en die aandag van die flirts
na my toe draai
en wanneer ek die bottel teen my lippe lig
gooi ek my flikflooi na hulle terug.

Maar ek bly by die huis
want computers het mos solitaire
en ek speel vanaf twaalf
tot ietsie oor twee
en dink aan die tyd
van heelnag jolyt
toe gangsters en druglords
nog babies was.

I'm longing for jazz
in a warm smoke-covered room,
the taste of beer
and Count Basie posters on the wall,
the man or woman
who keeps looking at my lips
while quietly clinging to their partner's hips,
the time that passes by
from quarter past twelve
until something past two
and then I walk home
shy, all on my own
because the catch of the day
who comes monthly this way
passed me a sweet note
which on paper he wrote
"see you again,
not so sure when."

I'm longing for jazz
in a warm smoke-covered room
where my hips I'll sway
attracting the flirts
to look my way
and when I lift the bottle to my lips again
I'll pass a flirting look back at them.

But home I stay
‘cause computers have solitaire to play
and I'm busy from twelve
until something past two
thinking of the time
when nightly fun was mine
when gangsters and drug lords
were babies still.