She's on the roof-tops
and all of the skies,
and when I pop the pop
thirsty as I lay.

Lets take this up a step,
its no abbreviation,
her beauty's in her eyes
and I get lost there alone

When the disco's room vacant,
care to dissect the marbling,
and I wish I had my breath
in every one of your steps

But you never saw me......

maybe this vacancy,
was not a lively in you,
but it was in me........
gentle's not a wheeze
though a winter's breeze
and how I moved,
with the thought of you.

All the same......
Music is not a voice,
its a continuous
of a gentle parade
of all that's baffled.
words are jumbled
like our jungle,
yet many of us remain..
Its not a circus of a tame,
but not so boisterous,
the flying western witch
I can't really explain it.