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Chiaroscuro Trio
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Front Porch Poems: Tango Violistico
The very next time that you're watching your local orchestra,
Please pay some very close attention to the strings ––
The section usually begins
With all those teeny violins
And moves down through the basses
(Great big scary things – BRRRRR!)
But in the middle lies the noblest of all the instruments,
The one that balances the perfect highs and lows ––
The one that plays the middle part
And sends its arrows to my heart ––
In short, the section where my dear beloved goes.
The man can play viola,
He makes me lose control-a,
He is the Ayatollah of my bod,
The man can play viola,
He moves my very soul-a,
The man can play viola like a god.
The man can play viola
He turns my blood to cola,
I'll shout his name from Cape Town to Cape Cod
He bows from tip to fro-og,
And I go all ago-og,
The man can play viola like a god.
Too long I loitered all alone in romance's waiting room,
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Too long I tarried by the turnstile to the moon,
Too long I waited for the dance,
Too long I never got the chance
I needed moving, and I couldn't move too soon.
But then I heard him, and I knew there was no more waiting game,
I knew this yearning in my breast was heaven-sent
All his harmonic harmonies
Rushed in and weakened both my knees
And his fundamental stirred my fundament.
The man can play viola,
He makes me lose control-a,
He is the Ayatollah of my bod …
The man can play viola,
He moves my very soul-a,
The man can play viola like a god.
The man can play viola,
From Newark to Angola,
He plants my inhibitions in the sod
The Germans call it Bratsche
But all I hear is 'Gotcha!'
The man can play viola like a god.
How'd this violist get so?
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