En.Citatepedia^®.ro

A ballerina wins my heart! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

A beautiful ballerina full of grace
Tip toed on stage, in white lace.
Hair pulled back, a small crown in hair,
Oh, she looked so winsome and fair.

Other day was kicking her tiny legs on bed,
Wearing a tiny bonnet and dress in red.
She crawled in my courtyard on her knees,
She loved all the attention I could see.

Now, here she stood, so poised on stage,
I watched with joy, disbelief and dazed.
Step by step with others she moved on her toes,
Amazing… how fast children learn and grow.

My heart beat fast seeing little Anika dance.
But back in the green room she joyfully pranced.
Kissed her and left to keep another engagement.
Next day, she chided why you missed the final act.

I was looking for you when I made the bow,
Before I could reply she was creating row.
How did she manage to stay quiet and act
All grown up…she will be six next month in fact.

poem by Mamta Agarwal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Can Can Dancer Gran.

I used to be a dancer
during World War 1
your paternal grandmother said

as she sat next to you
on the seat in her
back garden in London

and your grandfather
would come and watch
with his army friends

and afterwards
he'd come
to the stage door

with flowers or chocolates
or just stand there
with that awestruck look

on his face
and she looked
at the flowers

that your grandfather grew
along both sides
of the garden

and she smiled and said
Look at him now
sits in the same room

and says nothing
or moans about the bills
or how the country is run

or the noise of the traffic
by the front gate
and you sat there

on the seat
in the back garden
in your new suit

and with your hair
cropped short
and that fifteen year old

I'm bored as hell look
on your face and you said
Why did you give up dancing

you must have been good at it?
and as you looked
at your grandmother

with her white frizzy hair
and stocky build
you couldn't imagine her

as a dancer on a stage
with men gawping at her
especially not your soft spoken

quiet grandfather
who sat in his armchair
by the fireside

in a silent mood
occasionally reading a book
or giving that

I've seen too much
of mankind's foolery
kind of look

and your grandmother said
Well after we got married
I fell for your uncle Fred

and beside I wasn't that good
a dancer and your
grandfather didn't want

a wife of his
to be peered at
or have her legs

gawked at
by other men
and then she was silent

and watched
a white butterfly
go by

fluttering its wings
but
she said softly

getting up
from the seat
and doing a small

Can Can dance
the shows not over
until the fat lady sings.

poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Get Off The Stage

Oh, you silly old man
You silly old man
Youre making a fool of yourself
So get off the stage
You silly old man
In your misguided trousers
With your mascara and your fender guitar
And you think you can arouse us ?
But the song that you just sang
It sounds exactly like the last one
And the next one
I bet you it will sound
Like this one
Downstage, and offstage
Dont you feel all run in ?
And do you wonder when they will take it away ?
This is your final fling
But then applause ran high
But for the patience of the ones behind you
As a verse drags on like a month drags on
Its very short, but it seems very long
And the song that you just sang
It sounds exactly like the last one
And the next one
I bet you it will sound
Like this one
So, get off the stage
Oh, get off the stage
And when we get down off of the stage
Please stay off the stage - all day !
Get off the stage
Oh, get off the stage
And when weve had our money back
Then Id like your back in plaster
Oh, I know that you say
How age has no meaning
Oh, but here is your audience now
And theyre screaming :
Get off the stage
Oh, get off the stage
Because Ive given you enough of my time
And the money that wasnt even mine
Have you seen yourself recently ?
Oh, get off the stage
Oh, get off the stage
For whom, oh ...
For whom, oh ...
For whom, oh ...
For whom, oh ...
Get off the stage
Get off the stage
Get off the stage
For whom the bell tolls

song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chesterfield King

We stood in your room and laughed out loud.
Suddenly the laughter died and we were caught in an eye to eye.
We sat on the floor and did we sit close. I could smell your thoughts and thought. do you want to touch a lot like me? too scared to say a thing. I left your house and kicked myself. I put those
Ings on a shelf to die. I guess Im not a gambling type but think of what the two of us had lost.
Had lost.
I needed some time to think it out. 7-eleven parking lot. a toothless woman turned and stopped. I gave her a dime and a chesterfield. she leaned down and kissed my cheek. I was scared but it fel
Et.
Felt so sweet.
She asked me if I had a name. I told her I was glued up on some chick. we sat and smoked against the wall.
Drank a beer, felt the chill of fall.
Of fall.
I took my car and drove it down the hill by your house. I drove so fast. the wind it couldnt cool me down, so I turned it around and came back up. you were waiting on your step, steam showing o
Ur breath and water in your eyes. we pulled each other into one, parkas clinging on the lawn and kissed right there.
Said all my chicks they smoke these things and handed you a chesterfield king. held your hand and watched tv and traced the little lines along your palm.
Your palm.
I took my car and drove it down the hill by your house.
I drove so fast.
The wind it couldnt cool me down, so I turned it around
And came back up.
You were waiting on your step, steam showing off your breath
And water in your eyes.
We pulled each other into one, parkas
Clinging on the lawn and kissed right there.
Right there.

song performed by by Face To Face
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ballerina

The frightened ballerina,
standing on her toes
stood behind the curtain
in a dainty pose.
Having practiced faithfully
hour after hour,
inside her heart was pounding.
Outside her muscled power
overcame her fear.

The overture now playing,
each note was in her ear.
And as the curtain opened
it took away her fear.
The stage, the lights
became her love.
Each pirouette and leap
took her way above
into a different sphere.

The audience, mesmerized,
intent on every motion,
appreciation on their faces
showed deep emotion.
And as the music ended
she took her final bow.
No longer was
she frightened,
in fact emboldened now.
She knew why she was here.

To dance, to dance
at every given chance.
To hear the applause
and hear them call her name.
And so the ballerina
standing on her toes
so graceful and dainty
is awed as she does hear.
'Bravo, bravo,
bravo, my dear.'

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Helen and You and the Bombed Out Factory

Ought we to go in there?
Helen asked
as you both stood outside

the bombed out factory
off Rockingham Street
sure we should

you said
but it's got
STAY OUT signs

on the big doors
she said
you looked at her

with her thick lens glasses
and her hair tied in plaits
nibbling her finger in anxiety

come on in
you said
nothing will happen to you

while you're with me
she didn't look convinced
what if someone sees us?

she asked
no one cares around here
kids are always going

on bombsites
you said
she looked around

her eyes seemingly larger
than they were
are you sure?

she said
yes now come on
and you took

her small hand
and pulled her through
a small opening

in the side
where other kids
had made an entrance

she a pulled face
on the other side
of the gate

and rubbed her arm
where a line of blood showed
look

she said
I've scratched myself
you dabbed at it

with a grey handkerchief
and spittle and she watched
as you cleared up

the line of blood
will it be all right?
yes

you said
it'll be fine
and you walked on

across the yard
and into the bombed out factory by
a door hanging

on its hinges
and into the dark interior
she stood by the entrance inside

and took in the semi darkness
it's frightening
she said

no one is here
you said
how do you know?

she asked
it's too quiet
you said

she leaned closer to you
and grabbed your arm
what was that?

she whispered
a rat probably
what? she said

a rat
you said
let's go out

she said
nothing will hurt you
while I'm here

and you patted
the toy gun
in the belt

of your jeans
she looked at you
then out

into the semi darkness
you walked in
and up the stone stairs

by a wall
and she followed
her breathing

becoming louder
as you walked up
once at the top

and along a landing
you came to a small office
where the door was missing

and there was a hole
in the roof where a bomb
had blown it off

as well as other parts
of the building
you stood

looking around
the room
where rain had rotted

what furniture remained
and on the floor
were books soaked

and rotting
Helen said
can we go now?

you looked up
through the hole
in the roof

and there
was the afternoon sun
and a white cloud

moving slowly across
a blue sky
and she moved

next to you
and kissed your cheek
but you didn't know why.

poem by Terry Collett
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Elongated Hair

She 'done gone and did it'
She pulled it out
The elongated hair on my side
Oh how I did pout

It had grown long before
Back in earlier days
I had kept it short myself
using several different ways
After time had gone by
I wanted to let it grow
I decided to give it a try
and become a freak show

I'd let it grow down to my hips
or maybe to my knees
this hair could grow up to my lips
or at least to my kidneys

She'd noticed it that day in passing
while feeling 'round my tummy
I had thought she'd just been sassing
She said, 'I'll cut it off you dummy'

I did protest then to her notion
It smelled of sheer butchery
To cut of this hair in such a motion
would be a crime to both it and me!

Then came the day when it happened
While I lay in her bed so quietly
The life of my hair would come to an end
with a tug from her hand so quickly

I had mourned it for a moment
and I'm sure I looked sad
whatever had been her intent
I told myself it could not be bad

So now it has another chance
to begin a life anew
Elongated hair please do advance
Again I'd like to see you.

poem by Sean Furlong
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Oh Pretty Ballerina

Oh pretty ballerina with a bow in your hair
How i envy your movements so graceful and beautiful
How i long for your lean figure and fragile frame
Oh pretty ballerina with a bow in your hair
How i envy the way the world spins around you
Yet you don't fall like the rest
How i long for your balance
That keeps you so poised
Oh pretty ballerina with a bow in your hair
How i envy your slippers
That gleam in the lights
How i long for the dresses
That shimmer with every glide you do
Oh pretty ballerina with a bow in your hair
How i envy your perfection
How i long for your adoration

poem by Korey Buffo
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The Coquette

Girl, oh girl,
I can see you
in the wintry morning
as you go out
hurrying
with the copper bracelets’ sound
your hair surmounts your tiny head,
your hair,
coarse like horse’s mane
black hairs cutting the air
as you look in the mirror
for the last time
before you lе а ve.
Girl, I can see you
with the lipstick,
idolizing your mouth,
full shiny mouth,
your high heels tempt the stairs
as you descend,
Girl, I know you,
your plain body, tiny legs, slim,
trembling
with the muscles of your arms
as you lock the door;
What have you done
and they don’t know?
Your curly red hair from the youth
you’ve straightened it smooth
and dyed black,
Girl, does your body hurt when nude?
What have you done?
I could never see
your plasticine drops flow,
why did you go to the wolfs
when night fell:
teary drops tear the flesh
your tiny breasts
were mesmerized
with the green amulet
swinging
from one breast to other
we see each other strangely;
How queer,
I can see you in the night
girl you crawl, the saffron shawl
slithers your body as your stomach
swells with pain
“To hell with the wolfs“
and in the room of old wolf
always reeks malodorous.
Girl I can see you
bending,
your knees rubbing the floor
your coarse palms
sending the bulletins of shame
to be published,
hush girl, I can see
your blackened and regretful
running down your toes: tears.
I can see you go
as someone locks the door
from where you went in the night
I can see you howling,
green with forest coldness
green were your eyes
reddened with plasticine
and you, what were you?
Why girl you are,
in the wintry night
as you come back home,
just another
plasticine doll.

poem by Afrodita Nikolova
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Baby Step Back

Now it looks to me like the same old place
In the sky it looks like rain
The same old town with the same old streets
The address has not change
You can find me there
With the door shut tight
And the one wish that remains
Baby step back baby step back
Either step up or step back
No you know I dont write no bad checks
I have no wish to repent
Ive seen a few
But whatever I do
I dont cause no accidents
Whiskey and wine help me pass the time
I dont leave no evidence
Baby step back baby step back
Either step up or step back
Baby step back baby step back
Either step up or step back
Still I dont kneel down
I was born to fight
So youd best leave me alone
Maybe Ill get much more than I need
Or much less than I should own
Last of all let me say it again
Either step up or step on
Baby step back baby step back
Either step up or step back
Baby step back baby step back
Either step up or step back
Baby walk back baby walk back
Either walk on or walk back
Baby step back ...

song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Uncle Fred and The Sand Dance

Your Uncle Fred
on Christmas Eve
at Gran's house

when you were a kid
did the sand dance
wearing an old fashion

man's striped nightgown
and a red fez
(he got that in Egypt

during WW2
Gran said)
and brown

open toed sandals
and Uncle Ed
turned the handle

of the windup gramophone
where an old
78rpm record

was playing
and there were
glasses of sherry

being consumed
and cigarettes being smoked
and you sat watching

clapping your hands
and Gran would get up
afterwards

and do her Can-Can
like she used to
as she young woman

on the stage
and Granddad sat there
quiet saying nothing

looking at
the people gathered
sipping his sherry

watching his wife
lifting her legs
her white fuzzy hair

going to and fro
as she moved
and you wanted

to have some sherry
but your mother said
no you have lemonade

little boys
don't have sherry
so you sat

with your lemonade
watching Uncle Fred
and his dance

and the music coming
from the old gramophone
and the smell of sherry

and beer and cigarette smoke
and Uncle telling the adults
one of his old army jokes.

poem by Terry Collett
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Lil' Boys, Tiny Birds and BB Guns

One little wide-eyed boy
One tiny bright-eyed bird
One new little “Red Ryder” bb gun
One tearful choked-back word

The word was “noooo! ! ”
Both a plea and refusal in one
A heart-rending realization of
A deed that could not be undone

“Sorry! I’m so, so, sorry! ”
Sobbed the sad little boy
As he watched once-bright eyes
Slowly glazing

Tiny head slowly drooping
Now dull eyes sightlessly gazing
But the die alas
Was coldly cast

Twas the first time in life
the boy had to bury something
But It would’na
be the last

Time passes
people change
Inexorably, we pass
from stage to stage

And little boys
with little toys
Begin to grow up (sadly)
and come of age

poem by David Whalen
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For Love Of

You're the boy
from near the farm
aren't you?

Jane asked
standing by
the school bus

after school
had finished
for the day

yes
you replied
yes I am

and you wanted
to say more
but your tongue

dried up
as if stuck
in some desert

someone said
you're new there
she added

looking at you
with her pale blue eyes
a few months

you said
taking in
her smooth skin

how dark her hair
how straight
and touching over

her shoulders
you ventured words
are you

the parson's daughter?
she nodded
rather than spoke

her reply
then looked away
as other kids

came towards
the school bus
and stood back

as they climbed aboard
their noisy voices
drowning out

the ambience
of her being there
like big guns of war

breaking through
the peacefulness
of a pre-war dawn

and you waited for her
to speak again
but she looked back

at the school
as if the audience
granted you

had ended
and you stood there
waiting to board the bus

like all the rest
come on Jane
someone called

and she turned
and climbed aboard
leaving you to stand

and watch
the lifting
of her leg

the black shiny shoes
the white socks
the way her hands

pulled her up
the next step
and you savouring

each moment
of her motion
full of a love

like one
for a work of art
full of emotion.

poem by Terry Collett
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Dark Dancing- Elle

There were moments
when she slipped
again to the edge of her solitude
which in full view exuded its dark charm;
she gazing it in the eye
her hand in my hand
my bringing her back
this once more again

back but still drawn
still able
in the next moment
to say yes
to that sweet interiorality
that withdrawalness
brings.

No one in there but her
when she went there;
no pressure;
a certain peace
which comes from
not being out there
where Strife
and Expectations live.

Maybe that was it.
Being out there.
She just felt that she could
be out for just a small while
but could not sustain
feeling phoney among those
used to the light.

I felt
in these times
I failed her
not being attractive enough
to make sunlight cleanse her
of vampire kisses
and dark attractions.

But she did come back
from that Mental Cave Dark.

Our dance
is this quiet dance
where survival is at stake
with every step advanced;
every step withdrawn matters.

One day she said.
'Have you noticed
I have had no dark moments
in a long while?
'Yes, ' I said
'Why?

She said
'I have grown exhausted from the back and forth.
I have decided to stay here for a while.'

That was how it ended, just like that.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Home

I came back late and tired last night
Into my little room,
To the long chair and the firelight
And comfortable gloom.

But as I entered softly in
I saw a woman there,
The line of neck and cheek and chin,
The darkness of her hair,
The form of one I did not know
Sitting in my chair.

I stood a moment fierce and still,
Watching her neck and hair.
I made a step to her; and saw
That there was no one there.

It was some trick of the firelight
That made me see her there.
It was a chance of shade and light
And the cushion in the chair.

Oh, all you happy over the earth,
That night, how could I sleep?
I lay and watched the lonely gloom;
And watched the moonlight creep
From wall to basin, round the room,
All night I could not sleep.

poem by Rupert Brooke (1913)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Branded By Hot Lips

Christina sat crossed legged
on the grass of the school playing field

her friends got up and left
as you arrived after school lunch

where's your friend Rolland?
she asked

gone off with Woolgar
to play football

you replied
she patted the grass

beside her
why don't you sit down?

she said
so you sat down beside her

looking at her dark brown hair
brushed so so

and her green summer dress
just covering her knees

the black shoes
and white ankle socks

completing the picture
as if your eyes

had mentally painted her
for later reference

she leaned forward
and kissed your forehead

a damp patched
the size of her lips

remained there
she said

something to remind you
of me afterwards

while you're sitting
in class doing boring history

or geography or whatever
thanks

you said
actually it's maths

which is even more boring
so the kiss memento

will come in handy
she laughed and looked away

you spotted Rolland
over the way

standing in a goal
between two coats

Cedric can see us out here
she said

breaking the brief silence
why does it matter

if your brother can see us?
Will he tell your parents?

she shrugged her shoulders
don't suspect so

she said
you gazed at her lips

as she spoke
and her hands on her knees

just laying there
palms down

he does watch us though
she said

maybe he's jealous
maybe he wants to sit here with me

you said
she laughed

don't be silly
she said

and you moved
towards her

and kissed her lips
and she pulled you

nearer to her
with one of her hands

behind your neck
and you smelt

lavender water
and her hair brushed

against your cheek
and when your lips

left hers
they felt branded

as if hot coals
had been there

and she said
that was wonderful

and over her shoulder
across the way

Rolland had let in
a goal as his stretched

out hand
missed the ball.

poem by Terry Collett
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Sons Faith, Mothers Pride And Joy

She stood looking down into the empty
Ground where her son would find his resting place.
Recalling her pride and joy, as he grew up
From a baby boy.
How he dreamt of things to come
As he played out in the sun
How he would walk with his head held high
And how she stood by his side.

He would always talk of how
he was destined to help others
And how his life would change
For every step had been pre-arranged.
He talked of things to come
And how it would be done.

He would say: there are many of us
Destined for greatness
but in different kinds of ways.
We just have to thank GOD and
get down on our knees and pray.

Many times I would ask: son! Why do you talk so!
And he would reply: many things we do not know.
But everything will be revealed in its
Proper time and place, and we will be blessed
By the LORDS holy grace.

The changes will not be world wide, and will
Be done a little at a time.
The same as GOD made everything in six days
And on the seventh he rested
So will our faith be tested.
You had always said that there are three things
In life. HOPE, FAITH, AND LOVE.
And one cannot exist without the other two
This was taught to me by you.
You had shown me the power and strength
In HOPE, FAITH, AND LOVE
By your belief in GOD above.
You have made me who I am today
And I thank GOD every day.

Some may see the glass as half full
And some may see it as half empty
I see it as a life of plenty.
You was put here as my mother to teach.
And I was put here as your son to learn.
And in my mind your lessons did burn.

And when it’s time for me to go
In your heart you will know
That I was destined to roam these skies
And to touch the heart of man
In every way that I can.

She recalled the words that he had said to her.
Mother! Why do you worry so?
You have instilled in me FAITH, HOPE, AND LOVE
In my heart- and in CHRIST I’ve become a big part.

As they brought the casket to his final resting place
Everyone stood in amazement and awe
To what they had just saw.
she pulled back her shoulders and with
A smile on her face, she nodded to the priest
To give the last rites.

She stood with pride as they lowered the casket
Into the ground.
She stood with pride without making a sound.
She knew he was where he was destined to be
As the beautiful spirit flying free.
Everyone felt a chill, and they all looked around.
For they all knew “ he was heaven bound”.

poem by Louis Rams
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Sons Faith, Mothers Pride And Pain

She stood looking down into the empty
Ground where her son would find his resting place.
Recalling her pride and joy, as he grew up
From a baby boy.
How he dreamt of things to come
As he played out in the sun
How he would walk with his head held high
And how she stood by his side.

He would always talk of how
he was destined to help others
And how his life would change
For every step had been pre-arranged.
He talked of things to come
And how it would be done.

He would say: there are many of us
Destined for greatness
but in different kinds of ways.
We just have to thank GOD and
get down on our knees and pray.

Many times I would ask: son! Why do you talk so!
And he would reply: many things we do not know.
But everything will be revealed in its
Proper time and place, and we will be blessed
By the LORDS holy grace.

The changes will not be world wide, and will
Be done a little at a time.
The same as GOD made everything in six days
And on the seventh he rested
So will our faith be tested.
You had always said that there are three things
In life. HOPE, FAITH, AND LOVE.
And one cannot exist without the other two
This was taught to me by you.
You had shown me the power and strength
In HOPE, FAITH, AND LOVE
By your belief in GOD above.
You have made me who I am today
And I thank GOD every day.

Some may see the glass as half full
And some may see it as half empty
I see it as a life of plenty.
You was put here as my mother to teach.
And I was put here as your son to learn.
And in my mind your lessons did burn.

And when it’s time for me to go
In your heart you will know
That I was destined to roam these skies
And to touch the heart of man
In every way that I can.

She recalled the words that he had said to her.
Mother! Why do you worry so?
You have instilled in me FAITH, HOPE, AND LOVE
In my heart- and in CHRIST I’ve become a big part.

As they brought the casket to his final resting place
Everyone stood in amazement and awe
To what they had just saw.
she pulled back her shoulders and with
A smile on her face, she nodded to the priest
To give the last rites.

She stood with pride as they lowered the casket
Into the ground.
She stood with pride without making a sound.
She knew he was where he was destined to be
As the beautiful spirit flying free.
Everyone felt a chill, and they all looked around.
For they all knew “ he was heaven bound”.

poem by Louis Rams
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Childhood - The 21st Century

How advanced they are, these children of the future,
Like small adults, within their tiny frames,
They grow up in a fast 'speed driven' culture,
Where 'learning pressures' change their kind of games,
Where is their childhood, in all this hurly burly,
Where is their pure untainted view of things,
Why do they have to grow so old, so early,
And lose the joy that only childhood brings.

Our childhood was filled with thoughts of joy and gladness,
We lived our lives, oblivious to the world
And all the hardships, wars, the grief and sadness,
We stood, waiting for our lives to be unfurled.
We had time to grow, and gain an understanding,
Of each new phase, each change along the way,
As we grew slowly, our senses all expanding,
So with clarity, we slowly changed our play.

We had a framework on which to build and flourish,
Slow and steady, this was no rushed affair,
Taking each step, then step by step to nourish,
Our childhood, so finally adulthood we would share.
What will become, of these 'New Century' learners,
I doubt if they, a dreamy childhood see,
Will they then tell to all those bright discerners
Of their own, how they remembered their childhood to be.

poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stepping On The Stairs

in wanting to go up
you step on the stairs

on the first step
you have to please this black dog
with the meat of a cat

on the second step
you have to deceive this white cat
with the whiskers of a fish

on the third step
you have to please this pink mouse
with a collar of a black dog

rising on the fourth step
you have to convince the hawk
that the white cat is dead

advancing on the fifth step
the bull demands that the fish
must be caught with its fins clipped off

the sixth step is meticulous
you have to find a way to
reconcile the black cat and the white dog

on the seventh you will be confused
what to do and whom to really please
to reach the eight step

the ninth step has this owl
speaking to you to finally proceed
to the tenth step

and you want to advance some more
trying to figure out what these animals
are asking you to do without
creating all the chaos
you want to please them all
to get what you want

finally you take the tenth step
and you are too weary and guilty
and up there you find
there is really nothing worth
the taking at the end

there is just the wind
blowing your hair telling you nothing

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ballerina

Spread your wings
Come on fly awhile
Straight to my arms
Little angel child
You know you only
Lonely twenty-two story block
And if somebody, not just anybody
Wanted to get close to you
For instance, me, baby
All you gotta do
Is ring a bell
Step right up, step right up
And step right up
Ballerina
Crowd will catch you
Fly it, sigh it, try it
Well, I may be wrong
But something deep in my heart tells me Im right and I dont think so
You know I saw the writing on the wall
When you came up to me
Child, you were heading for a fall
But if it gets to you
And you feel like you just cant go on
All you gotta do
Is ring a bell
Step right up, and step right up
And step right up
Just like a ballerina
Stepping lightly
Alright, well its getting late
Yes it is, yes it is
And this time I forget to slip into your slumber
The light is on the left side of your head
And Im standing in your doorway
And Im mumbling and I cant remember the last thing that ran through my head
Here come the man and he say, he say the show must go on
So all you gotta do
Is ring the bell
And step right up, and step right up
And step right up
Just like a ballerina, yeah, yeah
Crowd will catch you
Fly it, sight it, cmon, die it, yeah
Just like a ballerina
Just like a just like a just like a ballerina
Get on up, get on up, keep a-moving on, little bit higher, baby
You know, you know, you know, get up baby
Alright, a-keep on, a-keep on, a-keep on, a-keep on pushing
Stepping lightly
Just like a ballerina
Ooo-we baby, take off your shoes
Working on
Just like a ballerina

song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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