It is not what you think
It is a new dance,  It happens
In another place.  You see
Something you want but you
Are hurried on.  The song is
Mute, of memories made
No rhyme or reason.  Free.
It cannot be remembered
Grace and perfection are lost
Sought again.  I see a pouting
Face oh so cute-she is calling
Me - says  come you can-
Come and dance with me