The pulse of blood underneath his bruise grows more conspicuous
As the first verse draws near its end.
The tender melody is ending,
And the crash cymbal takes command.

The drummer vents his ardor
And she answers back in soft.
Together, they are lovebirds
And in music, just one anima.

A ballerina and a drummer:
Each alone is not intact.
They make a perfect duo
To explore the soul's acme.

They tap the majestic senseless
For the rhythms that it holds.
They give them emotions and share them
As their dialogue unfolds.

The energy is peaking:
It's the crescendo of the show.
He loses himself in rhythm
And she jumps the couch of soul.

The final drum roll ripples
And the outro at last is done.
The ballerina and the drummer
And the audience are one.

Oh love to them is but a season –
Seldom does it overstay,
And tho' they pain to seek a reason
Like the dream

It fades away.