Fist raised in the air
Beating the drum of her cheek
Back and forth they go to the beat
Over and over she joins her voice as he goes silently
Patient determination in his eyes as the music plays
Moving his hands to her shoulders to and from he shakes
A timbrel she becomes as his voice raises high into the air
Open handed beating of the drums again. How will the song end?
Her back becomes the violin of his dream as to and fro the whip goes
Honest cries the music of their life, her hand and knees balances their main instrument
Like the devoted man he is, all his effort goes into this
Music rings loud, her voice is in the air, she hears loud and clear
Finally they reach the crescendo, at last silence is here
The beauty of the music is too intoxicating for the end to be so near
So once again, with little rest for the beautiful instruments
The musician, begins playing his precious song
And there is nothing to be done but listen closely
The official conductors can do nothing but wait
For the music to end, when the instruments are dead
And when the instruments are dead
Who is to blame but the silent ones
Why didn't she walk away, Why didn't she say
Asks the attentive audience
Who listened to the melody, read the composition of her body
For years and years and years
But now she's dead
Why didn't she say, Why didn't she walk away
(C) Shaziane
