As Leo Sayer Sang,

“You make me feel like dancing,”
yes, I feel like
I have become a part of the rhythm
that beats down from the speakers,
through the head and through the heart,
I feel like the sway of hips and
the harsh thump of feet on floor, the
slur of drink and the sweep of skill,
yes, I feel like
you are there somewhere in the riot,
other feet and other eyes,
other hands pushing through and seeking,
finding, joining,
the clasp of a warm embrace,
and the slow, stuttering swing of some
long-dead bandstand audience;
and we are there, too,
in the courts of old Europe,
and the fresh-born bustle of Kingston and
everywhere in-between and apart,
and you
make me feel like dancing,
like the first dancing around a cave mouth to
keep the demons of night at bay,
you make me feel like dancing,
like something primordial and natural,
like something eternal and refined, oh,
oh,
you make me feel like
dancing

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