You’re a song written by the hands of God. Don’t get me wrong ‘cause this might sound to you a bit odd, But you own the place where all my thoughts go hiding And right under your clothes is where I find them. Underneath your clothes there’s an endless story, There’s the man I chose, there’s my territory.
I believe that when music touches the heart of the artist it produces a kind of connection between the spectator and the interpretation, no? The poetry, the allusions, even the dance… but not any type of dance… but THE dance.