Music sometimes wakes things put to sleep.
Put to sleep and laid to rest.
Like a cat is put to sleep
to keep it from pain.
We're not talking sure thing
given the moon and all, but
there's this space
between the bars of the blues
frees a woman
who walks with hands on her hips
and throws back her head
to laugh. She don't care
what you care. She's rhythm's mother
and she dares you -
live. Ups the ante,
never give in.