Hey, who’s that clown in the velvet loons
doing his thing to those old style tunes?
He says some dance it away
while others scream in dread of it,
by it, all cats, they say, are grey,
and dogs die in the dead of it.
But give me the disco fever night,
the Friday sad sweet dreamer night
Not black parades that feature
old ghosts who walk with death,
zombies, an alien creature,
Dracula or Macbeth
But a moves and grooves, white-satined night,
a flared and permed and perfumed night.
Not the Sabbath black and crowing,
or the cemetery-going,
the sudden reverse, a curse,
a nurse – or worse – a hearse –
but twist and bump and grind and jive,
showing the dead we are staying alive.
Give me white dress and college prom,
the boogie night when the beat goes on,
jitterbugging, jumping, jogging,
awkward steps and clumsy snogging.
Poets and mystics may find delight
in Wordsworth-wandering wistful night –
But give me hope, and scope, a sweet sensation,
a dance, a trance, a celebration,
the guts, the gear, the mojo mission,
the time, the place, the correct position.
Now a spectre rises from the dry ice
cocking his head to say Mm that’s nice –
and with Heroes and Hi Ho Silver Lining
he can do magic, his face is shining –
he can twist and shout and do what he please
as he gets down with his memories.
He says I’ll walk on the wild side,
no tears from this clown,
and the kids are united,
so don’t bring me down.
Just give me one more night, oh what a night,
for pounding pogo, punk and grunge,
one final geriatric lunge,
then I’ll dance till dawn
and out of sight
I will see the light
and that will be
all right.