The Last Fancy Dancer

Tis a witch out of season,

on the seventh day


And you hear reasons chanting,

while running away


from you

from you


In her brew stirs an answer,

where memories lay


And the last fancy dancer

burns, looking to play


with you

with you


Your destiny boiling,

a cauldron of doubt


With fear running over

her coven to shout


at you

at you


Until spells of transcendence,

a broom handled waltz


Free dreams that start dancing,

through dungeons of fault


for you

for you


(Las Vegas, Nevada: January, 2020)

‘Rock Lyrics #122







Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s