It’s your own rockn’roll 

blaring from your phones

no one else can hear 

a tiny crowd’s roar 

 

your choreography’s lost 

on your arthritic boss 

lighting show gets 

packed up in the smoke 

 

but you killed it 

left them stupid 

hit after hit 

ringing in their ears 

 

you killed it 

you’ll do it again 

after the weekend 

opening for the bus 

 

it’s your own rockn’roll 

no one will ever know 

the hours of practice 

the concise movements 

 

someone might get a sense

years from now 

memories faithful 

to that awesome sound 

 

you killed it 

playing for children 

thirteen again 

another period ends 

 

killed it 

leaving them curious 

maybe that’s more 

than they ever felt