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Once upon a Tuesday dreary
While I pondered, weak and weary
A strangely empty lot I'd
Parked in many times before
There came no raucous rapping
As of many glasses tapping
Many beer and cocktail glasses
Tapping on the barroom floor
Only silence, nothing more.

For the bar's dark and deserted
No more soda being squirted
Into glasses from the CO2 tank
Standing on the floor
No one's in the kitchen cooking
No one's at a table looking
For a waitress to come serve them
Bar food and drinks by the score
No one's waiting anymore.

All the regulars are missing
No doubt gone elsewhere and pissing
And moaning o'er the loss of
Their beloved "hang" of yore
While the triviadores wonder
Now the rug's been pulled from under
Can they take their game to O'Rourke's?
Or will they find out that the door
Is barred by those who came before?

Where will people go to fight
After drinking half the night?
Where will they deal the drugs
They dealt behind the mens' room door?
What of Jay, Joe, Gregg and Artie?
Yea, what OF The One-Man Party?
Whatever shall he DO when
All the bevvies cease to pour?
How WILL anyone SCORE?

What about Big Bill McCarthy
And his big...Open Mic party?
All the singers and players and
Friends and hecklers galore?
Whither Evel Karaoke?
How can they ever possibly
Find another public venue
For rehearsal anymore?
Butthole Surfer pants? No more...

Raise a toast to the Black Orchid
(Though you cannot AT the Orchid)
Raise a toast to our second home
With beer slopped on the floor
All the keno that we played there
And nights spent not getting laid there
(Or not!) But now the Black Orchid's
Left the building—locked the door—
And you can't go home no more.

It were fun while it lasted...
R.I.P., Black Orchid.

Evel Markie