Calm down Nica,
You don’t have to wait outside of the Stanhope
For the doctor.
Charlie Parker woke up in your apartment
On the sofa,
And he’ll be fine, once he’s walked it off,
And he’ll meet you
In the front row of the Five Spot around midnight.
So load up the Bentley
And bring the hollowed out bible with the whisky.
52nd Street;
No phone calls from the cops or from your family
Can reach you,
They all know you, you’re famous in your fur coat
With Thelonius,
The high priest and the baroness.

So calm down Nica,
You don’t have to drive on down to Baltimore
Anymore,
The Cabaret Card’s waiting in the morning mail.
Your mercy missions for musicians didn’t fail.
The unyears, they are over,
You’re forever black brown beige,
The bebop baroness.

The cats, they called you a butterfly,
But that’s not quite right;
Pannonica is a moth,
Known to come alive in the dark of night,
She might flutter by your table,
She might whisper something secret in your ear –
“You only need to hear one piece of advice:
Each of us only gets one life.”
Nica spent hers flying,
She was freer than the French,
She always said:
“Just listen to the music, man,
And throw your heart over the fence;
And the rest will follow.”