you're a songstress to them in distress.
A trumpet if victory to withering souls.
You're the Mozart of sweet swaying sounds.
That gyrates the spirit.
And the body becomes brand new.
They can hear your piano š¹ sounds.
Deep into the mist of their philistinic heart.
It's like a message to their condescending mind.
It makes them tap their feet in a groove
That soon Metamorphosis's into a communal.
Relationship with the sweetness of the air.
They can hear a telepathic rhythm.
Deep down in the glade of the forest.
Where the kindred spirits commune.
To do a dance of voodoo and hoodoo.
The sound of your ukulele keeps them in a trance.
They are tied to the fate of your cherubic voice.
Till time twists it's prime.
Deep into the woods like a haunted soul.
The trees speaks of your volumes and enchanting sounds.
It's heavenly like the clouds, knows no bounds.
Its a sweetness to reckon, one best ever found.
You're the songstress of the African empires.
Ruling in telepathic rhythms.