Come, let me play with you, black satin dancer.
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In all your giving, given is the answer.
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Tearing life from limb and looking sweeter than the
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brightest flower in my garden.
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Begging your pardon --- shedding right unreason.
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Over sensation fly the fleeting seasons.
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Thin wind whispering on broken mandolin.
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Bending the minutes --- the hours ever turning on that
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old gold story of mercy.
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Desperate breathing. Tongue nipple-teasing.
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Your fast river flowing --- your northern fire fed.
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Come, black satin dancer, come softly to bed.
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Black Satin Dancer
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| Jethro Tull |
