JOY OF DANCING LIKE WE’RE GOING TO DIE WHEN THE MUSIC STOPS Mickey "The Flying Busman" Mahan tap mambo square waltz limbo tango disco flamenco striptease foxtrot twist funky-chicken words words words words let’s put them all back in the book they came from or let them fall off our feet as we scrape the sky with our toes music alone makes fire in our bones our bodies know how to groove our blood is its own bubble our eyes their own celestial sparks our souls get the do re me if we’re able to feel our legs kick through the scrutiny of society our arms flail the misgivings of moralists our hips shake loose the serenity of the sacred our heads rattle the ball and chain of reason our backsides unravel the inhibitions of age then the dance can’t die even as we come apart at the seams
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