Taking the template straight to the dancefloor,
Stop hiding your vices behind a safe door.
We’re jumping the tracks,
We’re steering clear of the slide,
A pond is our compass,
Where the rhythms collide.
Look the coachman freezing the wild silence dead,
While Washington spins out his cold plastic spleen.
We’re locked in the sound where our own spirits leapt,
Where everybody dances alone on the screen.
So I’m just a doll in the chains of your phrase,
Our rhythm breaks through this nocturnal ablaze.
Can you hear it? Victor, the melody’s glass—
This song keeps on moving,
Ignoring the mass!
No hollow deceptions,
No stale empty lies,
We pump up the bass, set all
Right under the skies.
Just feel that smooth baseline
And look at the pond.
My poetry you can hear at: https://stereodigitalrealm.bandcamp.com/track/pond-of-rhythms
Pond of Rhythms
© Copyright: Романович Вероника, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126101200424
Свидетельство о публикации №126101200424
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