The Gig


Tremble and bass, Fate to fate, The thud of the drums, Booming their way, Rock the place, Screaming the voice off his face, Free to a rhythm we all understand, But he lives it every stage to stage.   Under those strobe lights, World fades away, There’s a certain thrill to a chase, And those beaming faces lead the way.   It’s the road that runs along, Few miles or yard, Turning back to home, But there’s still a thirst of a heady rush, And he gets it on that stage.  ©flyingonemptythoughts You’d also like… Persistence of Memory Moonlit Highways Bitter Truth Clarity Apocalypse on sale You should care Guts Not in the crowd