The Trumpeter

By: Christian Celentano

The beats of the drums shake the ground

The singer sings and the saxes sound

The bass the foundation for the blues of the heart

A man's own expression within his musical part

This band of the heart is quite a sight

With the whole spectrum of colors from black to white

Just a band full of people who want to exist

Led by the conductor with his directing fist

But a man in the back is the main event

People look past his skin and see his intent

He plays with such confidence no fear in his eyes

The blues he plays are as clear as the sky

The vibrations of the bass runs through his bones

The beat of the drums timed with his tones

The trumpeter at this time is no longer black

He's a man with a horn that never looks back

He looks so intense yet sounds lighter than air

He plays so strong yet harmless as a hare

His tones so beautiful in the way they rhyme

The harmony so deep it at points stops time

Yet a man with a horn is all he is

He Lives with his wife and two cute little kids

But his two little kids don’t know their dad with a horn

Lives in a world that's broken and torn

I remember that day could never forget

When his solo began he took off like a jet

The trumpeter played with no fear in his eye

But he didn't know after his show he would die

After it ended I went around the stage

Into the alley where the bricks showed their age

I saw four men with sticks and with bats

All wearing overcoats and small rimmed hats

I peaked around the corner to observe the scene

These men looked unhappy and most certainly mean

I prayed that the trumpeter wouldn’t arrive

And I thought of when he played how he looked so alive

Then suddenly I saw the door start to crack

One man gave a signal and they began to attack

A swift bat to his head hit with such deadly force

The man swinging on his face showed no remorse

The beating was quick but felt like forever

But finally, the men had finished their endeavor

They all ran off I was left in shock

As the trumpeter lay there still as a rock

I sat in the alley where the trumpeter lie

And saw the emptiness within his bruised eye

The warm blood from his face pooled on the ground

And all I heard was a dull moaning sound

I ran to his body took his head in my hands

This was just a man who was in a band

The skin that was black was turned blue and red

The trumpeter died, my lap his deathbed (changed the ground to my lap)

I couldn't remember how long I stayed

I just tried to think of how he played

The tears from my eyes they fell on his face

Oh how I wished I could have taken his place

I sat for a while my heart had such pain

And then I felt the cool wet droplets as it began to rain

I walk home in tears wishing it was a dream

And I would wake to the smell of coffee with cream

(Shortened last line)

On that night the band lost a member

On a  cold rainy night in the middle of September

His two cute little kids lost their dad

By some blinded men who did something bad

But what would be different if this man was white

It would not fix this horrific sight

And if the four men who killed him happened to be black

They still would have killed him and would have never looked back

The man that was killed was neither white nor black

He was a man with a horn in the pack on his back

The world was torn and broken  no matter his race

Yet he played with such tones that floated through space

I was born a man with eyes that are blind

But the scene of that night was engraved in my mind

But by having closed eyes  I saw his intent

I did not use eyes, my ears held my judgment

Either way, a trumpeter was killed

And I felt the puddle of warm blood from his head that he spilled

And the tears from my eyes fell on his face

Whether he was black or white I wish I took his place

I am now a trumpeter in a similar space

But in a world that no longer cares about race

People learned my trick and there was an advancement

They just looked past my skin and saw my intent

I have two little kids and a lovely wife

And a wonderful house and a beautiful life

The trumpeter was a man with a horn in his hand

He died to give me his spot in the band