There once was a man named deMarcos
Who played a mad flute in a band.
He could hit the high "C"
With greatest of ease
And could press all the valves with one hand.
Well, deMarcos could do other things.
He was quite the Renaissance Man.
He could tie a bait fly
Make a mean Mince-Meat pie
And get dark with without having to tan.
To get the idea of his talents
I should also tell 'bout this one time,
When deMarc' had the itch,
and, without even the slightest hint of a hitch,
Wrote a limerick stanza of unmetered rhyme.
But his flute he played 'oft as he could.
For it was his primary passion.
Just like Jethro Tull,
He dreamed in his skull,
When tough, manly flutes would be fashion.
In between his flute session he would
do so many great things for all others.
He'd changed a flat tire.
Clean lint from a dryer.
And he'd fill in for absentee mothers.
But in private he practiced that flute
Be it morning or lunchtime or night.
He would practice his trills
Giving his Pet Snakes the thrills,
'til each Etude was perfectly right.
Out in public he was a great hero,
And the police were quite thankful, in fact
For he solved unsolved crimes
And, yes, there were times
An imposs'ble confession he'd extract.
But the flute he was always a thinking
About playing a grand march by Sousa.
Even though he might be
Helping all the blind see,
He dream of play'n Lollapalooza.
Then one day his big break did come.
The first chair grand flutist was ill.
He was called on to sit
In his chair in the pit.
He was par'lyzed with fear and sat still.
While he gathered cans for the Food Bank,
He thought, "what if I'm not good enough?
Some people will judge,
and they might hold a grudge.
Are my fluting skills all the right stuff?
He was only deMarcos, you know.
and "Of the Marcos" he had came.
His dad was a pheasant,
shoveled crap (not so pleasant),
All he wanted was fortune and fame.
As he saved a man's life in the street,
He told himself that he should toot his own horn.
Though a horn's not a flute,
No one there would refute,
That no better a flutist had been born.
He agreed, with his calendar marked,
and practiced his flute more than ever.
But the President phoned,
Then by Kutcher was "Qwned."
Then he fulfilled a UN endeavor.
Then the big night arrived and he flinched.
First chair in the grand symphony.
Would he find the right breath? Or would he find his death?
In the midst, would he have to go pee?
All these thoughts they did go through his mind,
As he broke up fight in the lobby,
Then he changed a wet diaper,
Milked a poisonous viper,
Then turned down the nose of the snobby.
"I am confident in all I do!
except in the one thing I love.
How ironic is it.
That now do I sit,
In the first chair of Alex Gregov?"
"I do hope that Alex recovers,
and is able to then take his place,
in this tight crucible,
that plays games in one's skull,
But tonight, that just isn't the case."
Then the curtains came up he felt,
that all eyes were upon him so fast,
"Where's Gregov?!" they purr,
"That's a big impostor,
Oh, tonight is a night to lambaste!"
But the flute solo comes just in time,
And deMarcos takes in his breath.
As he plays his third note,
from the crowd comes a bloat,
Some guy had just come to his death.
To make a short story long let me say,
That deMarcos thought not of the flute.
From where he did sit
He leapt from the pit.
To save the dead guy in the suit.
In that moment he thought not of his chance
To get what he always had wanted.
But only of others,
his sisters and brothers.
In these times he never was daunted.
The flute hit the floor with a crash
And the crown sensed the thickening plot.
With only sum gum
And a few nacho crumbs
He revived the dead man on the spot.
deMarcos, of course did not think,
As always he only reacted
What he never quite saw
Was how others in awe
By his acts were profoundly impacted.
Well, the guy that he saved was real big,
In stature as well as in clout.
Turned out the guy knew
A flute band or two.
And arranged him a private try-out.
After solving Fermat's Last Theorem
deMarcos auditioned with glee.
Though he still earned new patents
And peace-talked combatants,
He now played in a band happily.