Pearls in the night Or is that her coal black dress She eases through a door, and the joint transforms, yeah Whatever this place was before, ain’t quite the same, no Her atmosphere draws a thick aural blend Billie Holiday, Nina Simone, Johnny Mercer The ghosts of Flannery O’Connor, Tennessee Williams, William Faulkner Swirl around her every step The walls now whisper... Prohibition Speakeasy And yeah, the Great Depression The Great Inspiration Every chair In this dimly lit place Hopes she’ll come their way But she strolls up on stage The microphone languishes, alone, Until her breath approaches Sultry Timeless The Siren of the South Creator of an emergence: J a z z i c a n a Old school jazz…American roots…organic compositions…revealing stories of vintage soul... And as she begins to croon... The whole room becomes Her top-shelf juke joint Haunted Southern Dark Classy She takes no prisoners With her... Silky dress Dangerous heels Glistening pearls A shot of bourbon and upright bass at her side As she sways And the room swings To... The Siren of the South And all that she has been To this moment... Roots... A tiny river town Among the mountains of West Virginia As she soars... The past wells up For all to hear and feel... Growing up in small-town West Virginia Immersed in backwoods folklore Remnants of the American Civil War Scattered on the ground at her feet Surrounded by historical white signs Depicting scenes and stories Of what once was and will never be again Where the North and South converge into one And coal reigns as King And the stealth artisan makes Moonshine by cover of night That tastes smooth as honey As her Granny listened to Hank Williams Sr. And Elvis singing Gospel As they trekked to church every Sunday... As a child Traveling back and forth to Mississippi Visiting relatives through the deep South With all its haunted trees and barren glory She dreamt of old plantations crumbling to the ground While hearing resonator guitars tell secrets in sound Magic... Living in London England, so far away She loved the melting pot of diversity The aristocratic edge in attitude High brow class, demanding respect A country proud of its heritage Which she understood all too well... American Jazz was rampant even more so than back home She was surrounded by its charm And had to sing and live it more than anything else in the world... The Siren of the South Sounds Stories Visions Geographicalities Darkest depths of tragedy Steamy sultry weather Cat on a hot tin heartbreak hotel Secret rendezvous in the backwoods speakeasy To the swinging jazz art of the Savoy Hotel She loves it all And has become This time and place In musical form J a z z i c a n a Midnight, the sky black as coal So wicked the warning Heart set aflame like turpentine Rising steam haunts her every waking dream Adlington Stephanie Adlington Siren The Siren of the South