Key: E
Introduction:
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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 sá bado, 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 Malecó n 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 cumpleañ os, 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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niñ os, 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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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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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 Malecó n tonight.