Steady as the beating drum hearts beat
There is no passion and there is no emotion
Just the creative music the soul creates
The drum feels no pain and hears no doubt
Only the rhythm that regulates
The chaos on the broken horizon
Of a dawn that comes too soon
When the entwinement of two souls is one on their own
A steady beating drum that fades in cruelty
And prospers in its own
When it isn’t bombarded for actualities
Promises mean nothing to the metals and the plastics
Just the pounding of a hand or of the drumsticks
Steady as the beating heart a drum sings its song
A lament or a tribute the players hand will tell
Just as the puppeteers controlling someone’s heart
Will play its song

 
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