Slap-slap,

boom

boombid de boom, slap

bang-boom,

slap bidde bidde boom,

slap



There he stands

the bass player

One foot planted to the oriental rug,

one foot on a n electronic pedal, making airplane noises



rhythmic hands, strengthened from the thick strings

and the pressing protest of the fretboard

callused fingers that lash out with

a fluid speed - quicker than life

of so it seems



his intense stare,

says nothing but deep concentration

as the sweat on his upper lip,

drowns the crowd's praise.



The bass is his release

to caress the struggling child,

inside his soul

grows with the rhythm

feeds on the notes



He is his own god,

in his own world. A world of slap, slap

boomboombid de

boom, slap, bidde bidde boom

slap

A world that unlocks the loneliness of his soul

A world of music,

because he is the Bass Player.