Image phone land there appear, in a whisper of jazz so clear  
Underneath the neon glow, where the midnight saxophones blow  
Walk with rhythm, talk in rhyme, in the heartbeat of the city’s time  

North winds carry the sound of brass, stories told in a music class  
Swaying trees to the beat of drums, as the pulse of the bass hums  
Articles written in notes so free, a claim to the spirit of melody  

Horns cry out in a fervent plea, echoing through the streets with glee  
Keys dance on ivory lines, painting tales as old as vines  
Footsteps tap in a soft parade, beneath the shadows where dreams are made  

School of thought where chords are spun, under the moon and under the sun  
With every scale and every riff, the air around begins to shift  
The melody a gentle guide, on a flowing, rhythmic tide  

Silhouettes in smoky rooms, where the jazz ensemble blooms  
Every note a brushstroke bold, in the gallery of sound, retold  
Voices merge in harmony, crafting waves across a sonic sea  

Through the whispers of the sax, a story unfolds, never lax  
A narrative spun with a gentle hand, across this vibrant, jazzy land  
In the blend of old and new, the jazz finds its cue, forever true.

Digitized Directional Middleware

TALKING ABOUT RECORD