Saturday, February 01, 2014

Traveling to a gig...

Written on the train to manchester to perform last night.

Traveling to a gig

No matter which mode I travel
Be it train, or bus or plane
the journey without nibbles
Will never be the same

Though it burns no extra fuel
To sit still for 4 hours
I seem to need the food of kings
So time passes fast, not sours

And so I plan my picnic
Drinks, crisps, sweeties, the lot
Sometimes even healthy stuff
Though often that's forgot

I then arrive at my next gig
Whether show, or dance workshop
Full of sugar, flying high
Dancing crazy, should I Stop?

I cannot stop, I will not stop
The energy must out
What do you mean, the bell has rung?
I'm set for my next bout!

Dance, I'm meaning, dance not bout
Oh Lorna, just calm down!
I know I should but, the mix of drugs
Has got me running round

Drugs you ask? oh yes, they're drugs
That music mixed with sugar
I'll shimmy, drop and figure 8
My Chou Chou beats the thunder

I'll fly around that stage tonight
Like the devils on my heels
I'll dance until it's time to drop
And fire, my slumber steals

I love that high, I get from dance
I love life on the road
I love eating unhealthy snacks
I guess I can't be told

I live my life for here and now
Each and every hour
Some call it zen, but yet again
Some call it immature

I'm almost done my traveling feast
The station, it draws near
It'll soon be time to hit the stage
Excitement mixed with fear

Stockport tonight, then class the morn
I'll Bellydance until
The weekend ends, and I'll eat
On Plane, train, automobile!

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