I’m in love with you Nina. Yes, you and your piano.
Don’t be offended, I can’t love you without loving it too. It is the continuation of yourself, the reflection of your tortured soul.
You know what it’s like to love someone (“To love somebody”). And I adore when you answer me by whispering “I cast a spell” (“I put a spell on you”).
May I call you Eunice? It’s pretty Eunice. It’s more original than Kathleen, I think. It is more intimate, Eunice, truer.
Why did you change to Nina Simone?
Yes, I remember now. Your dear mother must have been unaware that you were devoted to the music of the devil, you, the most talented of the eight children of the Protestant reverend couple, the Waymon.
You were dedicated to classical music but it was jazz that had your soul.
To our delight Eunice, for our delectable and selfish happiness!
Yes I know that the word “jazz” disturbs you, for you “it is a term that the whites have invented to identify the blacks”. Call it as you like, but let your soul express itself, my “little blue girl”.
I want to hear every note of your music until the last second of my life. It motivates me, you know, carries me, raises me, gives me the incredible vertigo of believing that I will triumph when the situation is more than desperate.
You’re not convenient, oh no! “Wild is the wind,” I know and you are as indomitable as the wind. But I love you, you and your music.
However, I would have liked your mind to be more peaceful, less angry at not being able to access this forbidden fruit. I have not suffered what you have suffered, but I know that responding to violence through violence only makes things worse, but I respect every sentence you have said, each of your frustrations, Your resentments … They are also you.
Shhhh … Someone’s coming!
Since I’ve been talking to you, they think I’m crazy, you know. They say you died a few years ago. But I’m not crazy. I know you understand me, you also treated yourself like a madman at a time.
But it’s not their fault. They do not understand us, they will probably never understand that, like you, I am a single woman (“A single woman”).
You are indeed the reincarnation of an Egyptian queen, as you yourself have said. You are my black gold. So, my dearest queen, play, dance, sing for me one last time!
Let your fingers slip and come alive in one of the dances of which you alone have the secret!
Soon my eyes will close, you know. My dear Eunice, I am no longer conscious of this world.
So let my soul fly on a note of your divine piano.
It’s finished (“It’s finished”)
But I am sure it is a new dawn, a new day, a new life ( “It’s a new dawn, It’s a new day, It’s a new life”).
And see how the sun shines (“Here comes the sun”).