I feel the heat on my cheek,
the Sun proving it's stronger.
My arms tremble as I grow weak,
to push its limits and hold my horn up longer.
I hear the loud beat of the bassdrum,
its hypnotizing beat.
I hear the dut of the snares,
its alluring sound up-beat.
I see the crowd cheering,
smiles growing on their faces.
I see what I used to be fearing,
but now it's what my life embraces.
I smell the intoxicating scent of valve oil,
its aroma pulling me in.
My nerves begin to coil,
turning my mouth into a grin.
I taste the cold metal of my mouthpiece,
its relish bland.
The taste of fresh spit from my mouthpiece,
its flavor familiar among the band.
As we take the field to perform,
the crowd cheers and hollers.
Their smiles bright and warm,
loud and powerful are there hollers.
Theses events aren't easy to explain,
all I can say is that these memories can't be slain.
