15 Cuban Minutes

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Fifteen Cuban minutes, fairly safe to say,
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can feel more like an hour   or the entire day.

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In the land where time means nothing, not hard to slip away,
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El Diablo baila sábado, y los curas on Sunday.

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Fifteen Cuban minutes, the end is out of sight;
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so I'll meet you by the cannon on the the   Malecón tonight.

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It started in Havana in nineteen-twenty-one,
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on the schooner Chiquimula where a party had begun.
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Primer cumpleaños, for a tiny lad at sea,
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and in my heart is still that faded photo of JD.

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Signal flags were flying atop the entire fleet,
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while the rhumba band from Santiago played the birthday boy to sleep.
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That's the tale was told to me, a seadog nursery rhyme,
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and the music that was handed down from a long forgotten time.

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Fifteen Cuban minutes get lost in the fog,
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life's a test, just do your best, like a   three-legged dog.

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In the land where time means nothing, you can often lose your mind;
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now place your bets, or better yet, just join a conga line.

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Fifteen Cuban minutes can turn night into day;
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they're dancing on the tables   down at El Frente.

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Another entry in the log, my mind put to a test,
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when we sailed with the Hemmingways on a schooner from Key West.
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They'd come to make a movie about long forgotten times;
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see old friends, drink some rum and visit family shrines.

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So, how the hell did we wind up, just tagging right along?
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They were looking for a soundtrack and heard one of my songs.
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So, I sang Havana Daydreamin', just me and my guitar,
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to some very stern KGB-guys, trying to blend in at the bar.

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So for fifteen Cuban minutes, la bodega did ignite;
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bongos y tumbadoras   kept us up all night.

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Mojitos by the minute, the crowd stacked at the door;
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niños, dogs, and roosters frolicked on the floor.

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Fifteen Cuban minutes,   lots of give and take;
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birthdays always come and go but   not a birthday cake.

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[Interlude 2] (Steel Drums)
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Fifteen Cuban minutes are easy to embrace,
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no calendars or watch to wind, no schedules to chase.

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In the land where time means nothing this phrase it cries, "Delay!"
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Put it on a tee shirt and everyone will pay.

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Quince minutos Cubanos, dejace la drama;
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aqui no hay AC solo la ventana.

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Music makes use happy, it's in our chromosomes;
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no matter where we wander, music takes us home.
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It started on the island, disbursed by sweet songbirds
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who flew north 'cross the Gulf Stream and everybody heard.

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Now the clock just keeps on ticking, I hear it everywhere I go,
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and I sing along in cars and bars along Calle Ocho.
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God bless Ricky Ricardo and Little Ricky, too,
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they set my mind on island time. How about you?

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The Greeks and Egyptians had sundials in the sand,
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now we have atomic clocks that measure the Big Bang.
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Still I prefer the simple way, let's take it to the street;
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more walking and less talking, tap time with your feet.

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Fifteen Cuban minutes still stands the test of time,
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like a Salas photograph or   Kenneth Patchen rhyme.

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If you're looking for a launchpad, no news, just hearsay,
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don't bother with the WiFi, fuck Siri, ask Jose!

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Fifteen Cuban minutes, there's no end in sight;
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I'll meet you by the cannon on the the   Malecón tonight.

N.C.
Sana sana colito de rana
Si no sana hoy, bueno sana mañana
Mañana mañana lo que dicen Havana
Si no pasa hoy no pasa mañana.

Cifra adaptada de fontes públicas. Direitos da composição pertencem aos autores e gravadoras originais. Esta página é parte do projeto educacional Mania de Músico.