The Drums

The Drums they beat

And the band they play

And repeat and repeat

After night after day

And the dancers dance

And they’re wild and free,

We are nowhere but here,

We are nothing but we,

And the singers sing

And the beaters beat

And the drunks they drink

And we feel our feet.

 

The crowd roars out

With cacophony’s call

In the seething and heavenly

Vaulted hall

And we pounce on each other

In desperate love

And continue the Drums

Down around and above.

The feast tears on

And the tired they leave

But the Drums haven’t gone

And there is no reprieve

From the hubbub, the beautiful

Decadent place,

From the sweat or the tears

On our unified face.

 

We’re entranced and we dance

With a farcical art

And we prance till our brittle bones

Break to the brass

And we move

And we seethe

And we writhe

And we breathe,

We’re an animal frantic

For primal relief,

We’re possessive, possessed

With unresting unrest

Till the drums cease to beat

And our passion is halted, is silenced and sorely redressed.