No show

So here's the thing: there is a con
One that I completely forgot.
You want to play tonight? You're on!
(I need someone to fill my spot.)

Yes, I know, it's last minute.
That's just how it goes, isn't it?

A set at nine for the heliophile

Usually, this time of year,
Folk stay inside more oft than not.
Not that they're kept inside by fear
It's just that it's so awfully hot.
This year, where I now reside,
We're having a refreshing summer,
(Most likely caused by things denied
By those who've said things even dumber.)
And so I've looked and found a sum
Of jazzy songs about the sun.

No, it's not punk at nine.

There's a lot I want to say
About someone's little regime.
(I hate when assholes get their way.
It's upsetting, stupid, and mean.)
Instead, I'm going to dance and play.
I just might sleep, or even dream.

Something, something, at nine, something.

It's kind of like the feeling
Just before you stub your toe.
Or, maybe, when you forget the name
Of someone you should know.
You discover that your wallet
Is something you left at home.
It's before you flush the toilet,
But after you drop your phone.
I know there's something missing
But not sure what it could be.
Maybe I'd feel better
If you come dance with me.

Nostalgia for an alternate universe at nine

Long ago, there were some bands
Critics thought hot and current.
Tonight, we'll hear, from many lands,
A lot of groups that weren't.