Music is my muse; I sleep the waking night
Dancing a reverie of dreams,
Longing for the song that haunts and corrupts my soul.
The tune that strikes a chord within me,
Reverberates through the annals of my psyche.
Stirrings of a bass-line seep into my consciousness, cascades through my mind,
Released in an outpouring of kinetic exuberance that I dontate to the dancefloor.
Music is my muse; enraptured by her beauty,
I long for the murmur of a beat which pulsates through my veins,
Blossoms so beautifully into a crescendo,
Spills over and eclipses all that has gone before.
Rapture melts away into bliss, and
Music is my muse, for I know no other.
She of emblematic form, emphatic guise,
Keeps me awake at night because I embrace her lies.
Allow rythym to wash over the synapses that stir the soul,
Infuse a sense of belonging with a clarity that nothing else matters,
For deep down, in symbiotic harmony,
Music is my muse, and I her slave.
