The Old Man With A Horn

The old man told his storyAbout the years gone byHow he played his horn down in New OrleansIn some old dingy dive "I knew 'em all back then." he saidAs he reached out for his hornHe closed his eyes - and wet his lipsThen the blues were born.He played with so much feelin'Tears came from his eyesHe stopped and reminisced a bitAnd then he gave a sigh!Said, "You know, I almost made itBut that was before your timeDixieland, Po' Folks Blues ScatMan Jack and wine."Slapped his knee and gave a grinIt sure was good back thenReaching for his horn on the floorPlaced it in an old towsackThat hung across his backHe said "Goodbye!"And shuffled out the door.Enthused by what he told meI never got his nameSo, I called the waitress overAnd started to explainA tired old man - his tarnished hornMem'ries of years gone byHow he played his horn and reminiscedSmiled with tear-dimmed eyes.She said you are mistakenThere's been no one but youBut I know who you're talkin' 'boutI used to know him, tooYou'll find him down on Basin StreetIn back of an old churchyardA stone that reads, "Rest in PeaceI tried but it sure was hard."CHORUSHe said, "Goodbye" then shuffled out the door.