Rhythm is both the song’s manacle and its demonic charge. It is the original breath. It is the whisper of unremitting demand. What do you still want of me said the singer? What do you think you can still draw from my lips? Exact presence that no fantasy can represent. Purveyor of the oldest secret. Alive with the blood that boils again and is pulsing where the rhythm is torn apart. How your singer’s blood is incensed by the depth of sound. Lacerations echo in the mouths open erotic sky where dance together the lost frenzies of rhythm and an imploring immobility.
Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Grace Jones. Jones the rhythm.
Slave
Slave
Slave
Slave to the rhythm
Dance to the rhythm
Axe to wood in ancient times
Man machine, production line
A fire burns with heart beats strong
Sing out loud the chain gang song
Never stop the action (No never never)
Keep it up, keep it up (Keep it up)
Never stop the action (No never never)
Keep it up, keep it up (Keep it up)
Slave to the rhythm
Dance to the rhythm
Never
Never stop
Never stop
Never stop the action (No never never)
Keep it up (Keep it up)
Never stop the action (No never never)
Keep it up, keep it up (Keep it up)
Slave to the rhythm
Work to the rhythm
Dance to the rhythm
Live to the rhythm
Slave to the rhythm
Dance to the rhythm
Live to the rhythm
Slave to the rhythm
Work to the rhythm
To the rhythm
Work to the rhythm
To the rhythm
Slave to the rhythm
Slave
To the rhythm
To the rhythm
To the rhythm
Grace
Grace
Grace
Oh that’s weird (laughs)