It's a nuisance to leave dancing to chance
and to sit by and sigh a sigh of mild high relief.
It's brief, but for a moment there's courage
and the courage builds a bridge.

But "look out," comes a shout
from seemingly miles away
and your gaze blazes below.
There's a troll beneath you.

It wields a shield made of lies
and a club made of fear and dead wishes.
Make it swim with the fishes.
Silent let it be, and cross the bridge.

Beyond the concrete dance floor,
ignore the three harpies' bait.
Don't wait. It's not too late
to quicken your pace.

Tread carefully. Don't be lured
by the drunken eyes,
or the devilishly devilish propaganda
for *** on their clothing and skin,
because it will hurt in the long run.

Head towards the sundress,
and the toga dancing next to it.
They're friends of yours,
but not yet.

So don't repress your desire to dance.
Take your chances.