Fire
©2007 Debra Fotheringham

You live your life. You play it slow,
and then one day you let it go.
The fire flies. Your fingers move.
The sparks fly hard. You feel it groove.
Submersed.  You are in the feel.
You feel the wood start to peel.
You feel the wood start to peel tonight.

You cry, you laugh, you shake your head.
This is fire.  This is lead.
Oh I love this.
My skin vibrates with the sound
Spinning round, upside down.
This is what I was born to do.
I will miss you.

Jungle rhythms beating might,
under cover of the night.
Pounding of the humid sky,
In ancient lands you'll hear this cry.
Echoed through the deepest caves,
Snaking rivers, shadowed glades
From your ancient people it came.
Where do you think you got your name?

Fire burning bright.
Feel this heart.  Feel this light.
Oh, I love this.
My skin vibrates with the sound
Spinning round, upside down
This is what I was born to do
I will miss you; I will miss you

Rhythm is a tongue
Understood by everyone.
Its pulsing takes you higher.
Consumes you like a fire.