The Rhythm - Amine Edge

Rhythm is both the song’s maniacal and it’s demonic charge

It is the original breath, it is the whisper of unremitting demand

What do you still want to be said the singer?

What do you think you can still draw from my lips?

Exact presence that no fantasy can represent

Purveyor of the old secret

Alive with the blood that boils again

And is pulsing where the rhythm is torn apart

How your singer’s blood is incensed at the depth of sound

Lacerations echo in the mouth’s open erotic sky where dance together

The lost trenches of rhythm and an imploring immobility Ladies and gentlemen…

The Rhythm