The music in the background, the next track the next song the next mix the next popular rhythm but all it brought about was pain, and fear of the future's next record. You went back to the track played two hours ago, and requested that I help you to dance, but you could see my dance had gone onto the next track, I should have noticed how you threw your cardigan into the Primrose carpet. Shuffling my digits I tried to manipulate your hips, you took control and I melted back into the thought of flow.
The thoughts behind your decisions shown in the way you did not move, your friends thought a judgement that lasted a lifetime, but the two step beat turned me into a Playboy Mansion. We took away are favourites as the new arrivals de-robed at the sound of the top 40 example. You went straight to them and told them about your new friend who wasn't aware of your beauty. The barman looked over with that look of dance, the manager tipped his head in approval as the girl twirled and touched her oval pearl earrings, all the men were busy dancing, she moved towards her feminine bricolage.
The mood changed like a French proposition for 2012. No matter how hard I tried to bring attention to my existence the music overshadowed everything. The flyers advertised everyone but me, yet you still noticed that I had music. You took my mind on a melody of tunes as all your friends looked on in awe of your accomplishment, and I nearly tripped on a charger. The twinkle sound tweaked it's thorny ring-tone melted in bass of the venue, as did the unmistakable criticism.
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