It didn’t have any nuance of romance, nor did he hear her singing
And even if she was his favorite muse, although he never admitted
All her hope packed in late afternoons has died, as he a murder committed.
A jazz musician she thought would for the stringing care a little more
His stringing was only emotions spraying over her a layer of horror
And the spraying was the only jazzy in her secret love affair
Having his existence here and there, but never complete with her to share.
The year has gone without any of their secret meeting around five
She felt even lack of the sprayed jazz making her previously alive
She has now the jazz only, but the musician not anymore
A muse to a jazz-player she will not be, as she swore!