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The Dance
The dance you dance inside my head, I know it all too well.
It's turns, twists, leaps, and jumps in sound and tempo swell.
You're checking when to make your move, it's all part of the game,
And it takes two to tango, so I shall do the same.
We stumble across the dance floor, trying to match eachother's beat.
Your rhythm's slightly off sometimes, and I have two left feet.
We're both trying so desperately to escape the status quo,
But all whilst we are dancing, instead of trying to let go.
And although this metaphorically can lead so many places,
I cannot seem to fit it all within the lines and spaces.
So all in all, dorkface, I don't quite see just what's in store.
But dancing can get quite tiresome, just like this metaphor
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