I Can feel my legs moving sometimes,
The sensation it gets when i think of you,
The dances we made together,
Down the valleys in our homes,
With drums beating in unison,
My legs hurt sometimes,
But they hurt for you,
Bear feet with tiny shorts,
The dust deep down in the plain,
Your moves still ticlkle me.
High school was it?
A beauty you had turned out to be,
Proms were never made in the Savannah,
But queens danced freely in it's midst,
No one moved like you.
What would it take to feel again,
To dance with you like that,
I'd like to hold your waist,
And look straight in your eyes,
Isn't that what dreams are made of.
