M/S Stubnitz: where no-1 was into it

as promised, herewith...

The Tale of no-1 and the Sinking Ship of Disinterested Danish Revelers

no-1's final show was held upon a lovely summer evening,
where in the quiet town of copenhagen, everything was seeming
to be in good accord with stars and timing well aligned
when in fact perhaps the opposite was true, and he was blind
to this, but was he? could he possibly have truly been mistaken?
the evening turned to night, and from a sleep he did awaken
with hotel telly rolling k-pax credits in the background
he rubbed his sleep encrusted vision and looked around;
putting on his no-1 whites, red belt, & ultra rap persona
he stepped outside and found the bike he'd borrowed til tomorra
o'er cobbled stones he trundled past the gathered tourist traps
and went toward the water where the boat was getting packed
dodging drunken kids and slick club types he slid across the deck
and headed down below to find the stage and get all set.

but something was amiss this night, he couldn't put his finger
on it but it slowly percolated down into his mind and then it lingered;
was it the people or the place or both or no-1's own anxiety
or something wrong with everyone? (at least then he'd blame society)
well either way he felt it and wasn't sure that this would be
the supreme deluxe crowd killin' show that he had hoped it'd be...

the night went on, the boat filled up with kids of all descriptions:
all mostly young and mostly drunk and mostly hardly listening
to the music being played by all the DJs in the ship's hull
at no-1's stage the beats replayed damn loud & on some shit dull
tunes by The Strokes, Nelly Furtado, plus some other party music
it wasn't quite the spot he had imagined but the mood shifts
sometimes in the right direction if the kids are willing to let it
and no-1 still hoped he'd rock the party right (=hoped they'd get it).

well well, go figure, now you can tell where this is going
his whole damn set felt like a dream that was moving in slow motion:
the room was sort of packed at first and drunkards yelled & cheered
but then they realized, i think, they'd had too many beers
and didn't give a shit about this cancon kid's crazy lyrics
who they could not only not understand....they could hardly hear it!
yeah, the mix of beats to vocals wasn't exactly perfect
and as the crowds departed, no-1 wondered if it was worth it
to keep on rapping english puzzle poems to kids who'd rather be
partying to music that they already knew from EuroMTV;
suffice it to say, by the end of the set, no-1 rapped to no one else
it was funny actually, he thought, to freestyle for himself!
but he kicked a couple raps to kids who were walking down the hallway
and finished up his incredible (!) set thinking at least 'i did it my way...'
all sinatra references aside, he thought, at least i damn well tried,
and if they didn't get it, fuck it man, i guess that's just the ride
if you can't join 'em, beat 'em, like DJ Format said
you do it for yourself and hope you nod a couple heads,
when disillusioned folks don't want to think it ain't your problem
and there's only so much you can do with raps to try and solve 'em.


as told by no-1 to your faithful scribe,
johnny valentine, on this twenty fifth day of july
in the two thousand and fifth year of
our (dead & departed) lord

peace.