Dance

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Dance.
Dance like you're flying.
Dance like death is dying.
Dance like you're defying all sides of gravity.

Leap like you are learning.
Like the ground's forever burning.
And your stomach always churning.

Churning as you soar.

Soar when your guts tell you otherwise.
Soar when it might cause your demise.
Soar like it's freedom in disguise.

Disguised beneath the mask of dance.

Dance.

Dance like you're flying.
If you don't win, keep on trying.

Because you weren't made to be a captive of the ground.
You were made to trust what you cannot see.
Be what you cannot be.


For a moment-- between moon and ground-- you can try.
You will (will you?)
Fly.

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